a little too (not) over you
by tysunkete
Summary: "Then if Komadai had made an appearance at Koshien before last year, you might've gone there instead, huh?" And his immediate thought had been, /No, I came here for you./ Furumiyu.
1. Chapter 1

_Title:_ a little too (not) over you  
 _Fandom:_ Daiya no Ace  
 _Character/Pairings:_ Miyuki/Furuya

 _Summary:_

"Then if Komadai had made an appearance at Koshien before last year, you might've gone there instead, huh?"

And his immediate thought had been, _No, I came here for you_.

 _Notes:_ I don't read manga canon but this was very vaguely inspired by that moment, that Furuya actually holds it so close in his heart that he came to Seido for Miyuki and he's never regretted that. It gives me a lot of feelings. I didn't realise Miyuki had—still has—no idea about that, I truly wonder how he'll feel when he does.

* * *

It's one of the bigger matches, which is why the stadium is much more rowdy than those Furuya has watched. He can't blame the excited screams and chanting in unison long after the home team has won—Japan's national baseball team—on the soil of their own country in the Asian Games. It's been almost two decades since their last gold trophy despite always placing top three over the years, it's understandable that no one wants to leave, not when the national team is still standing proud on the field and bowing to the audience in thanks, with the golden trophy and flower bouquets in their hands.

Almost everyone is standing whilst clapping and yelling, but Furuya stays seated, hands clenched together on his lap. His seat is right in front near the fence which gives him a clear view of the players of their national team decked in white jostling and laughing together while reporters swarm the field. He recognises all of them by now, even if the only two people he knew when he first started was their ace pitcher, Narumiya Mei, and their catcher, Miyuki Kazuya.

On the large screen above the field, Mei's bright blue eyes and the smug upturn lips dominate most of the camera view as the pitcher says a few words about their win, but Furuya is more tuned towards the figure next to him, catcher armour still on and rolling his eyes to whatever the blonde is saying.

Still the same honey brown eyes, still the same light brown hair, still the same confident grin and self-satisfied smirk—but the edges of Miyuki's face have sharpened over the years and his skin is a tad bit darker than they were in high school. It's been years since they've spoken to each other—seven years, there about—but tone of the catcher's voice still sinks into Furuya familiarly as the other answers a question on screen.

It almost brings a curl to the edges of his lips to see how truly happy his senior is—he has only seen that a couple of times; once, when they were at Koshien and Miyuki had directed that look towards him on his final strike-out pitch to win the national title. It makes him swallow, to remember that again; his fingers grip together tighter, and he briefly casts his gaze away for a bit before returning it back to the field.

He should leave, but his legs feel heavy and his breathing is tight, moreover, the crowd is still thick and he'd have to push through to get down through the gates—but these might be excuses he tells himself just to stay a bit longer.

"—FURUYA! HEY, FURUYA, THAT IS YOU, RIGHT?"

Furuya blinks when he hears his name being yelled from somewhere behind; and immediately he freezes, because he'd recognise that voice anywhere.

"FURUYA!" He nearly jumps when two arms come into a lock around his neck. "HARUCCHI SAID YOU WEREN'T COMING, AS USUAL! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US YOU COULD MAKE IT—"

Furuya shuts his eyes and cringes at the loud shout near his ear, only sighing in relief when a gentler voice interrupts.

"Eijun! I told you not to run off without me!"

"But I saw _Furuya_!" Sawamura argues, eyes bright. "When's the last time we've seen him at a baseball match, huh?"

Haruichi smiles, though he flickers a quick look towards Furuya. "You should let him go, at least. You're choking him."

Sawamura squawks and immediately releases his arm hold. Furuya experimentally swallows and rubs his neck, gaze meeting Haruichi's before he looks to the side quietly.

It's not that Furuya hasn't been to baseball matches—he has been to every single official match on home ground that the national team has played—but he's always gone alone and sat elsewhere. It's not that he's not friends with Eijun and Haruichi anymore; far from it, he's still in regular contact with them, but watching these matches are a _private_ thing for him. He doesn't know how to explain it, but from the very first time it felt like it was something he had to do alone, and so he made excuses whenever the other two invited him along.

"Anyway!" Sawamura starts, excited again. "We should get down to the dugout before they leave, come on!"

Without further ado, Sawamura hauls Furuya by the arm and drags him up the steps of the stadium.

"Eijun—!" Haruichi protests after them, voice fading into the noise of the crowd as Sawamura drags him through without regard for how he stumbles clumsily after the fast pace.

Vaguely Furuya realises his tongue has gone numb and it feels like he's not in his own body anymore, watching himself being pulled ahead. It feels _wrong_. He doesn't want this, this is exactly why he doesn't want to come with Sawamura and Haruichi, he doesn't want to get closer to the dugout and the field where the national team is, where Mi—

"— _MIYUKI_!" Sawamura hollers loud enough for anyone within a mile radius to hear.

"I told you not to shout when you come, idiot! It's noisy enough here as it is!" a sharp voice barks back, followed by scattering laughter.

Furuya sees Miyuki first, the other's hair matted to his sweat soaked forehead with a half-filled water bottle in his hands as the catcher makes way towards them, nodding towards some people in uniform who are barricading the entrance to the field.

"—ah, Furuya?"

Furuya snaps out it, blinking rapidly. He hasn't heard a word of what Miyuki has said, who furrows his eyebrows at him. It's almost like shock settling into his bones with how Miyuki is right in front of him—for years he's seen Miyuki on field, but it's nothing quite like being here, with Miyuki tilting his head towards him in question. Up close, the honey brown eyes seem almost _golden_. He opens his lips to say something, but his throat is too dry to make a sound—abruptly Furuya realises his hands have gone cold and are hanging limply by his sides, with his breathing too scarce to properly draw breath.

"Come on, you recognise me, don't you?" Miyuki grins wryly, stepping up close to him. "Well, you look the same, monster rookie."

"...M-miyuki-senpai," he murmurs finally, voice hoarse with the name weird on his tongue.

He hasn't said Miykui's name in seven years, he realises, as his own pronounciation of 'Mi-yu-ki' replays in his mind. Has it really been that long?

"Still quiet, I see," Miyuki hums. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in years," he continues, causal. "I thought I'd see you at one of my matches sometime, but you've never come, until now."

Furuya stays silent, gaze darting around quickly, familiar faces sinking in. He spies Eijun a distance away from him, bouncing excitedly on his heels talking to Chris, and Haruichi is somewhere towards his left in a group with his brother, Kuramochi, Tetsu, and other members of the national team. They all seem close, like it's a normal thing for them to come and mingle with Miyuki's teammates.

Miyuki either doesn't notice his fidgeting or ignores it. "I heard you don't pitch anymore, is that true?"

Furuya nods, because it is. He hasn't pitched since Seido, not since he decided not to pursue baseball as a career.

"I didn't believe it, you know. You were so stubborn about being on the mound, I thought you'd go pro," Miyuki continues, only to be met with more silence.

Furuya hears the underlying _why_ , even if it's not asked. It's a question that he's gotten many times in the past, none that he's ever answered honestly to. Maybe because it feels like any answer he gives never feels honest, even if he has no other words to say. After Seido he had been scouted, predictably, but he turned all the offers down and instead settled into a normal college life to be a zookeeper. It's always been what he's wanted to be since he was a child; baseball was something his grandfather sparked in him and taught him so much, but.

"In any case," Miyuki goes on smoothly. "It's great to see you again," he smiles, and clasps Furuya on the shoulder. "If you want me to catch your pitch for bit, I'm sure no one will mind if we use the field for a couple of minutes," he winks, tone teasing. "We're heading out to meet the press in ten minutes, so this is your only chance."

Furuya's fingers involuntarily trembles, but he rounds them up into a curled fists to keep them from shaking. Miyuki looks at him expectantly, sly smirk on the catcher's lips like he knows exactly how to work Furuya out—but Miyuki knows the Furuya from seven years ago, and not the one standing before Miyuki now. It's been a long journey for Furuya to come where he is now, to be able to shake his head decisively in reply.

Miyuki's eyes narrow, but before he can say something, Mei's voice hollers across towards them, to which Miyuki yells a few words back. Miyuki flickers his gaze back to Furuya after, eyeing him with an unreadable look, though the smirk stays.

"I need to go," the catcher says, "But we're having dinner tonight; Sawamura, Kominato and the rest of us. Be there, or I'll hunt you down."

Miyuki leaves before Furuya can say anything, but Furuya doesn't have words to say anyway. He watches the number 2 on the catcher's back disappear into a group of people on the other side of the benches of the dugout, and shakily exhales when he doesn't see it anymore, turning his eyes towards the blue sky in the distance.

His heart is pounding so quick, just like that time at Koshien when Miyuki pulled him in for a quick hug right after they won, eyes bright and smile wide and genuine, right on the field.

No, he doesn't want to think about that, not when it's inevitable of what comes after—he remembers the times when Miyuki patted his shoulder and smiled gently at him and he'd always found himself so dazed-struck after, the times when Miyuki would be talking about something he doesn't know because he's too busy staring at the moving lips, and that one particular time before their match with Komadai Fujimaki and Miyuki had said,

"Then if Komadai had made an appearance at Koshien before last year, you might've gone there instead, huh?"

And his immediate thought had been, _No, I came here for you_.

And that's how it's always been hasn't it—he came to Seido for Miyuki, and at the end of Seido with multiple offers, he had only considered the one where Miyuki is, and it struck him there and then that he was going to follow the catcher yet again, without question, without thought. He doesn't know when it began, but he's been looking at Miyuki since his first year with the ever heavy echo of _I think I'm in love with you_ to _I don't want to love you_ by the end of the three years, because _who_ is he other than the boy who chases after Miyuki across miles and miles of land?

He thinks he's done alright so far—he has a job he loves, he doesn't miss touching a baseball anymore, except the times that he's woken up feverish clutching empty space with honey brown eyes at the edges of his brain, but it's been _okay_ ; he watches Miyuki's matches from afar and leaves with a light heart that Miyuki's doing good, he's doing good, he's _fine_ —

"FURUYA! HEY, DON'T IGNORE ME WHEN I'M—" the shout drops into an uncertain tone, "…Furu…—ya?"

Furuya blinks, and comes face to face with Sawamura who is peering at him, looking stricken.

"What happened? You look—"

Furuya turns his head away. "I need to go," he says shortly, ducking his face from view as he steps away, paces fast straight towards the exit.

"Hey, Furuya! Oi!"

Furuya walks faster, pushing people out of the way as he squeezes out of the crowded exit where reporters and fans were hanging about, ignoring the yells Sawamura makes after him. When he thinks he's a fair distance from the stadium, somewhere amongst the cars in the car park, a hand grips the back of the shirt and he stumbles into a halt.

It's Haruichi, breathing slightly heavy from the exertion of catching up to him.

"Furuya-kun," Haruichi begins, but one glance towards Furuya, the Kominato quietens before saying something else than that he had in mind, "…It's okay."

Furuya stares at the ground.

Is it, though?

It's hard to take in.

Maybe it's harder _because_ seven years have passed, and he still doesn't know what he's supposed to do about this—if anything, at all.

What does he do when it's seven years later and he's face to face with Miyuki again, he knows immediately, _I'm still in love with you_ , beats strong and hard and painful in his chest?


	2. Chapter 2

Furuya loves his job.

Ever since he first saw a polar bear at the zoo in Hokkaido, he'd fallen in love with the huge creature bathed in snow white. It's truly a dream to be the one caring for them now at Ueno zoo—he's mostly in charge of the Artic and Antarctic animals. With his heat prone deposition naturally gravitating towards the cooler enclosures when he was still under probation, his manager had duly assigned him to where he shined the most. He still has to do rounds with the other animals, but he spends majority of his time bathing, feeding and exercising the large mammals with his colleagues.

There are four of them in charge of one polar bear each, with him being the youngest in the team; Sagara Kaori, his manager with an 'office lady' aura who occasionally shares lunch with him; Fujiwara Yuki, a bright and bubbly lady who takes every opportunity to ruffle his hair; and Kousuke Yuusuke, an easy going male who has been attempting to drag him to drink but unfortunately has not been successful. Furuya likes his colleagues a lot—they never made him feel unwelcomed and are always there to advise and help out—but he knows he's still removed from them, never really sharing about his personal life.

That's probably why they're all so excited when after hosting their daily afternoon feeding show, there's apparently _someone_ looking for him.

"Who is it?" Furuya asks as he scrubs his hands under running water, trying to get rid of as much slime off his hands from the raw fish he had been handling.

"Uh, I forgot to ask his name," Kousuke answers, scratching his cheek. "He looked quite familiar too, but I can't remember where I've seen him before…"

"Maybe he's a model, he's so handsome," Fujiwara sighs, tone turning wistful. "Furuya-kun, hurry up, he's waiting, let's _go_!"

"We're not supposed to have visitors during shift hours," Furuya mumbles in return.

"If your manager says it's fine, it's fine," Sagara says, smiling. "And I say it's fine."

Furuya lowers his head slightly as he finishes off rinsing his hands. He knows he's being spoilt a lot by his team—even on Saturday when he went to watch Miyuki's match, Fujiwara had offered to switch shifts with him so that he didn't need to take a day of leave. He pats his hands dry too slowly for the others' liking, who push and fuss over his slow pace to get him moving out of the back of the enclosure.

When he finally exits the employee-only door, he doesn't expect to whack a figure who had been standing on the other side of it.

"Owww, _fuck_ ," the other person mutters softly, pressing a hand against his forehead with his eyes scrunched up in pain.

Vaguely Furuya hears Fujiwara slip a giggle behind them, but his own throat is frozen solid, reflex apology instantly killed when he realises _who_ it is that's looking for him.

"Hey, no apology?" Miyuki narrows his eyes at him, but the curl on the other's lips is amused. "That hurt a lot."

"…Sorry," he mumbles, hands going cold at his side. "Senpai…what are you doing here?"

As much as Furuya doesn't want to look at the catcher, he can't help but stare as well—Miyuki's face is avoid of spectacles, but he recognises it immediately having seen it in the baths in Seido, and the other is dressed casually; hoodie and jeans.

Miyuki smirks. "You didn't come for dinner. I said I would hunt you down if you didn't, remember?"

Furuya swallows minutely. He didn't really think much of that, or maybe, he wasn't really in the right frame of mind then to notice what was being said. But how did—

"—how did I find you?" Miyuki grins. "Sawamura," he says simply, and Furuya doesn't need to ask more.

They've all always known that Sawamura is easy to manipulate—partly because Miyuki's proficient at that, and partly because Furuya has given Sawamura no reason to not let Miyuki know about his wherebouts.

"Don't look so upset, I might think you're avoiding me on purpose, Furuya," Miyuki continues airily, but Furuya knows that the other's eyes are sharp and glinting towards him. "We're having dinner tonight. When does your shift end?"

Furuya doesn't want to answer, having a sinking feeling as to where this is going, but Kousuke cuts in enthusiastically on his behalf.

"Usually at four, but it's a slow day today so he can leave in an hour," the older male pats Furuya's shoulder happily. "Right, Kao-chan?"

Sagara steps forward, adjusting her glasses. "Sure," she agrees, and smiles at Furuya's glance in her direction.

"You always stay later than your shift, have a break today with your friend," Fujiwara puts in, ruffling his hair from the back.

Miyuki grins. "Thanks. Let me know when he's done? I'll be around the area."

Furuya's colleagues wave at Miyuki with matching grins until the departing figure blends into the crowd.

"Furuya-kun, who is that?"

"He's—was my…senior from high school," Furuya replies slowly.

"Name," Fujiwara corrects. "His name."

Furuya looks briefly at his shoes. "…Miyuki…Kazuya."

There is a pause.

"Mi…miyuki Kazuya?" Kousuke repeats, eyebrows furrowed. "You—you mean… _Miyuki Kazuya_ , as in _national team Miyuki Kazuya_? The catcher? Oh my god, no wonder he looked so familiar, I couldn't recognise him without his glasses, but—"

"Oh god, it was _really_ him! How—how do you know _Miyuki Kazuya_?" Fujiwara demands, just as shell-shocked. "You've never—never said anything about baseball, how—how—just, Furuya-kun, _what_?"

"Wait, Furuya-kun, you said he's your senior from high school, so you're from _Seido_?" Sagara asks, surprised. "Your CV never mentioned your high school, I didn't know you've stayed in Tokyo before."

Furuya nods. "For a while."

"Did you play baseball too?" Kousuke stares, eyes wide. "Seido's a good school academically but it's also a _huge_ name for baseball. You guys are _nationally ranked_."

Furuya looks away briefly. "I was a pitcher."

"Wow," Fujiwara breathes. "You must've been _good_. Probably still are," she muses. "Hey, so was that what you were doing on Saturday? Watching Miyuki-san at the Asian Games final?"

He wasn't really watching it _for_ Miyuki—he was, but—

"It was a good game," Furuya decides to say finally.

"Wasn't it?" Kousuke sighs with a grin. "Especially that last strike out pitch…ah!" he snaps his fingers suddenly. "I forgot to congratulate him on the win!"

"We didn't know it was him," Sagara supplies helpfully.

"Later, later," Fujiwara sings, ushering them back through the enclosure doors. "We've got to clean up to see Furuya-kun off at three. Come on!"

* * *

There isn't any way to escape when his colleagues literally hand deliver him to Miyuki at three o'clock. The smirk on the edge of Miyuki's lips tells him that the catcher is highly amused—and all of it is probably according to the other's plan or something.

It's too sudden and too soon to be seeing Miyuki's face again just after two days.

He had needed the whole of Sunday to… _stop thinking_ —and just so easily Miyuki saunters back into his life and throws all his hard effort out of the window. His throat feels tight again and his stomach swirls as he follows Miyuki obediently out of the zoo, all while trying to think of a plausible excuse to leave while his heart squeezes every time he glances at Miyuki's back.

He's well aware that he's getting more self-conscious with every second ticking by, especially with the resounding _I'm still in love with him, I'm still in love with him_ , chiming over and over in his head in screaming panic.

"Well. I didn't expect your shift to end so early," Miyuki speaks up when they're outside the entrance of Ueno zoo. "Let's go get a drink first. What do you want?"

Furuya stays quiet.

Miyuki sighs, glancing at him. "Fine, I'll decide. But don't complain if you don't like it."

"I'm not the one who complains about that," Furuya murmurs on reflex.

Miyuki pauses, slightly surprised before he laughs. "Hey, don't be rude. I'm still older than you, monster rookie."

Miyuki brings them to a café several lanes away. It's quite filled but quiet, with most people busy with their laptops or books with their coffees on the table. Though it's relatively nearby the zoo, Furuya hasn't heard about it before, but then again he hasn't been around much except to and fro his home and workplace. They don't talk at all whilst journeying there. Once they're seated and drinks served, Miyuki merely watches Furuya while sipping his caramel latte, until Furuya speaks up to break the silence.

"Senpai, don't you have practice?" Practice today—or everyday—as the national team does, he wonders why Miyuki is even free to come bother him.

"We have the week off for winning," Miyuki replies, still looking at him. "I noticed this previously but your skin is _really_ pale, you know that?"

That's to be expected, since he doesn't stand under the hot sun for hours at a go any more.

"How's your stamina? Still as bad as ever?" Miyuki continues, grinning.

Probably much worse.

"Hey, Furuya," Miyuki starts when he chooses to drink his hot chocolate instead of replying. "Tell me what you've been up to."

"…What do you mean?"

"Your current life," Miyuki elaborates. "I haven't heard from you in six years."

 _Why now,_ is all Furuya can think, because _why_ does Miyuki have to do this now after six years of no contact? Granted he was the one who moved back to Hokkaido after Seido, but he's been in touch with Sawamura and Haruichi all the way through, it wouldn't have been hard to get his phone number if Miyuki wanted to. Maybe that's something he's been unknowingly holding onto—that he's been waiting for Miyuki to find _him_ for once, rather than him always chasing the catcher's back. And yet now that Miyuki has; he doesn't want this, not when the seven years of tightly curled feelings threaten to eat him up alive after repressing it for so long.

"I…take care of the polar bears."

"I know that. I was watching the feeding session," Miyuki sighs, rolling his eyes. "I meant, what do you do in your free time?"

"I—"

"Other than sleep." Miyuki's grin is mischievous.

"…I…watch…documentaries."

The catcher's lips relax into a more gentle smile. "Animals, huh. You really love them."

Furuya nods.

"What about baseball? Are you in a local team?" Miyuki asks, lowering his voice into a tease. "Though I can't imagine any ordinary catcher catching your fastballs."

Furuya swallows—of course Miyuki has to talk about baseball, that's what they've always been about. He shakes his head slowly, and Miyuki pauses, setting down his half-filled mug.

"—Wait, you—…don't play anymore? _At all_?"

"I don't."

Miyuki furrows his eyebrows, and Furuya braces himself for that dreaded question. "Why?"

Because.

Because he can't. Not anymore.

"Furuya?" Miyuki tilts his head when all he does is to stare at his hands on the table in silence.

"…I just don't," he answers finally.

Because in his third year he had been looking at captain Sawamura yelling orders and seeing Miyuki shouting at them as before, or pitching into Yui's mitt and seeing Miyuki's smirking at him with his arms open wide, _give me all you've got, Furuya_. Because he's spent the whole year on the mound with Miyuki's voice in his head going, _focus on the batter, I'll take care of the runners_ , or with Okumura calling for time and seeing Miyuki stalk up to him with whispered advice instead. Or during the finals at Koshien on last the inning when he threw a 158km/h fastball to seal their victory, he had immediately looked towards the bleachers and hoped Miyuki was there—but Miyuki wasn't, and despite the excited screaming and yelling from everyone in Seido, he had never felt more upset in his life.

It was the dawning realisation that his life has been revolving around Miyuki even though it's been a whole year since Miyuki's graduated and gone pro, that he knows for sure that it will continue to revolve around Miyuki. And that's pathetic isn't it, to have his life dependent on someone who doesn't know how much he _means_ to him, that he'll always be chasing after the sun without giving thought to how much it burned.

"I see," Miyuki says after a while, measured. "…I thought Sawamura was exaggerating," he states, voice neutral. "He's annoyed that you won't play baseball with him or Kominato, you know."

Furuya knows, oh he really does.

"So _why_ don't you?" Miyuki presses.

"…Why do you want to know, senpai?"

"Like I said," Miyuki sighs. "It's hard to believe. I know my manager scouted you during your third year and you declined. I thought you'd _want_ me to catch your pitch again," he says, sounding a bit put off. "Mei is talented for sure, but even he can't match your fastballs. You would've been a regular with us. Such a wasted opportunity, don't you think?"

Maybe. Maybe it is.

But Furuya wouldn't take back those years where he could finally breathe and find his footing on his own without seeing Miyuki's face everywhere.

"I like where I am now," Furuya says eventually.

"Really," Miyuki states skeptically, eyes sharp. "I'm not saying you have to have gone pro but you could still pitch for fun."

But that's just it, isn't it, that pitching isn't _fun_ anymore because all he can remember is bitterness when he does.

"Furuya," the catcher starts in a softer tone. "Did something happen after Koshien?"

Trust Miyuki to be insistent and stubborn about knowing things—Furuya has avoided trying to answer this question for five times now, and he's sure it won't be the last if he doesn't say something that satisfies Miyuki's curiosity.

"…No."

Miyuki ignores his obvious lie. "Was it your parents?"

"No."

"Sawamura?"

"No."

"Okay, not him then…Kominato? Ah, but I can't imagine Kominato being at fault for something like this."

"…."

"Coach Kataoka? Coach Ochiai? Maybe Rei-chan said something—"

"…."

"Okumura. Or Yui?"

"Senpai—"

"Me," Miyuki says, pointing to himself. "I did something, though I don't know what—"

" _Nothing happened_ , senpai," Furuya states a little forcefully.

"It certainly sounds like _not nothing_ ," Miyuki raises his eyebrows at the sudden outburst. "Furuya, seriously, is it me?"

Furuya swallows, hands clenching under the table. "It's not."

"I know you're lying."

"I'm not."

"Furuya—"

" _I'm not lying_ , senpai," Furuya says, and only realises he's said it a bit too loud when Miyuki just stares at him, expression turning serious.

"…You know," Miyuki begins after a tense silence. "You've only said my name once, on Saturday. You haven't said it today at all. You don't have to call me 'senpai', since we're not in school anymore. Call me by my name."

Furuya parts his lips, but he can't bring himself to say it. That's precisely why he hasn't called Miyuki by name ever since Saturday, when he had been so shell-shocked. Miyuki gazes him, eyes clearer than ever without glasses covering them, the honey brown glinting under the light. Furuya flickers his line of sight away when he keeps quiet in defeat.

How did it come to this so quickly, where Miyuki is at the edge of tearing it all down?

"I've always wondered why you've never came to see me," Miyuki says at last.

"It's not you, senpai," Furuya tries to say—and he _means_ it, it's not Miyuki's fault that he needed—needs the space.

"When you say that, I _know_ it's me," Miyuki chuckles wryly. "Furuya. Tell me what I did so I can fix it."

But that's exactly what Furuya _can't_ ; he can't say _you made me fall in love with you to the point where I wanted to tear my heart out._

"…I don't want to," he replies finally.

"Furuya—"

"Senpai," he interrupts, voice strained. "Please."

Miyuki furrows his eyebrows at him, throwing him a contemplative gaze. There must've been something in his expression, because Miyuki sighs briefly.

"Okay. Dinner first, then."

That's not really a better alternative—he wants Miyuki to drop the subject _forever_ —but he has no choice in the matter when Miyuki pays for their drinks and drags him out of the café.


	3. Chapter 3

Furuya snaps his hand back when a sharp pinch on his fingers wakes him to reality, and he stares at three penguins gazing back at up him, beaks clacking in impatience. He sighs, digging into the bucket he balances on his hip for more pieces of raw fish, tossing them neatly into their mouths. The birds nudge him when he's slow to feed them again, webbed feet stepping over his shoes and rubbing their heads into his shins. He gives them the last of the fish, absentmindedly stroking the top of the head of one which lingers around curiously even after the food is gone.

He flickers his gaze around in the meantime, hoping that he doesn't see a familiar mob of brown hair amongst the thin crowd huddled near the barriers of the penguin enclosure. It's not that he expects Miyuki to show up again—but, Furuya wouldn't put it past the catcher to do so, especially when Miyuki isn't satisfied about his avoidance on the topic of baseball.

They had dinner at a road side ramen stall, where Miyuki prodded him about his job—his work hours, his off days, his duties, responsibilities, qualifications, and a lot of curious 'have you touched that animal yet' (the answer is yes). It was certainly slightly strange that the catcher didn't ask about baseball again, but Fuurya knows immediately that the other was just bidding his time when he notices the particular glint as Miyuki asks him to join him in drinking for a bit after their meal. He declines, stating that he has to work the next day. Surprisingly enough Miyuki lets him go without a complaint, though with the parting words, "Well then, see you around."

He's almost convinced Miyuki would come again today to try his luck—or maybe, he _wants_ Miyuki to come again, but he kills that thought instantly before it leads on to things that he doesn't want to think about. He's had enough of that last night in bed as he stared at his ceiling in the darkness unable to fall asleep, too unnerved by Miyuki's presence for so many hours.

It's been so many years since he's had that much personal time with Miyuki, still as playful and calculating as ever, that it becomes a shock to his system playing back the withdrawals in fragments of memories he's carefully tried to keep buried.

Miyuki's lips curled into a teasing grin each time the catcher says, 'Your stamina really sucks."

Miyuki's eyes bright and golden, narrowed and focused on him, mitt ready on the other side of the field.

Miyuki's hands gripping his pitching hand, rough callouses brushing over his skin to inspect his fingers carefully.

Miyuki's voice, thick like honey, calling toward the mound, "Come.", with arms spread out wide.

It hurts to remember, because he inevitably thinks, _I miss you, I miss you so much, senpai_ , the twist of his heart clawing out in desperate want. And it's this _want_ that hurts—he doesn't know _what_ he wants, because no matter how much he _thinks_ he wants it's never enough; not even when Miyuki is standing right next to him, not even when Miyuki has a hand on his back in support, not even when Miyuki smiles at him bright and genuine, not even when Miyuki had said fondly to him, "That's my ace." on the grounds of Koshien.

And Furuya knows that he'd been Miyuki's so easily in just two years—Miyuki could ask him to do _anything_ and he unquestioningly would with blind trust.

But he wouldn't now, not anymore, and it feels like a relief to know that the past five years haven't been for naught.

"—uruya-kun? Furuya-kun."

Furuya flinches slightly when a hand rests on his shoulder and he turns in reflex; a finger pokes into his cheek at the action.

Fujiwara smiles warmly at him. "Don't fall asleep. It's time to groom the seals."

He nods, standing up to obediently follow her towards the back of the enclosure. He rinses the empty bucket while the elder takes the grooming materials—she catches him stifling a yawn in between and her smile widens.

"Hung out late with Miyuki-san yesterday?" she asks as they trot off towards the seal enclosures. "You're zoning out today. Well, more than usual," she puts in with a teasing tilt.

He shakes his head. He had returned home early, it's just that he couldn't sleep.

"Are you close with Miyuki-san?" Fujiwara starts curiously, conversational.

"…Not really," he replies. "Before…yesterday, I hadn't talked to him in a while."

"I see," she hums. "You said you pitched in high school, right? While Miyuki-san was on the team? Were you two ever a battery?"

Furuya nods slowly, and Fujiwara beams in excitement.

"Wow, that's amazing," she gushes. "How was it like? I mean, Miyuki-san is…well you know how good he is, you had front row seats in high school," she laughs.

He ducks his head sideways, pretending to scratch an itch on his nose to avoid his facial expression from being seen.

"…It was…," he tries to find a word but nothing will ever fit.

How can one measly word ever describe how he felt when Miyuki caught his pitch for the first time, the loud echo rocketing through the hall and smack into the centre of Miyuki's mitt, the catcher's smug smirk stretched wide as a response to his plea, _please don't disappoint me, senpai._

"Senpai…never missed," he says eventually.

Fujiwara hums again like she's going to ask more, but thankfully they enter the seal enclosure where Sagara and Kousuke are already combing down the large seals. Furuya takes his brush and goes to a corner where a smaller seal basks. Laughter and mock scolding comes from the other side, where Fujiwara tries to placate two seals who waddle in her direction. He kneels down by the seal he's next to, allowing it to clamber happily over his lap until it's satisfied with its own position before he starts work.

He doesn't, absolutely not, look around for a mob of brown hair again.

He does.

Maybe once or twice.

* * *

At the end of work, Furuya stares up at the dark sky and heavy rain soaking up the bottom of his pants even though he's still standing under shelter. He's annoyed that he knows he's been expecting Miyuki to show up and there was no sign of the national catcher—he doesn't want to see Miyuki anymore, that's the best case for him, but yet, is yesterday truly the last time he'll ever see Miyuki again, aside from the stadium benches across the fence?

The only consolation is the rain, which mollifies his internal turmoil a little.

It's getting colder as it edges into late September, but Tokyo is always hot by Hokkaido standards. He pulls on the head of his hoodie and tucks his hands into the pockets before making his way to the train station, idly wondering about what he should eat for dinner.

The rain is heavier when he exits the station at his stop. He does have an umbrella in his backpack, but he leaves it since his apartment is just a short walk away. When he finally reaches the lift of his apartment building, his jeans and the edges of his hair are damp, not entirely covered by his hoodie. A buzzing noise catches his attention when he steps into the lift; it's his phone that buzzes again in his pocket.

He digs it out, flipping it open to see a long list of unread texts from Sawamura who has apparently been frantically texting him for the past fifteen minutes.

Curiously he opens the newest one, which reads,

 _FURUYA? ASNWER ME? I'LL GET RID OF HIM I SWEAR I DIDN'T KNOW_

And the one before that,

 _ARE YOU HOME? DON'T GO HOME OKAY_

And the one before that,

 _WHERE ARE YOU FURUYA WILL YOU ANSWER MY TEXT OIIIIIII_

And the one before that,

 _FURUYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?_

And the one before that,

 _FURUYA HEY TEXT ME BACK IF YOU SEE THIS_

And the one before that,

 _OI FURUYA DON'T GO HOME YET JUST STAY WITH YOUR POLAR BEARS ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?_

Before Furuya can read the one before that, his phone buzzes again, but this time it's a call from Haruichi.

"Furuya-kun?" Haruichi greets when he presses his phone against his ear, sounding slightly frantic. "Furuya-kun, are you home yet?"

"I will be," he answers slowly, confused as he flickers his sight to the level number on display quickly ascending once he presses the correct floor on the lift buttons.

"Ah. Um," Haruichi replies. "Um, I…well, you should stay away for a while, because Eijun…he…" Haruichi swallows uncertainly before sighing. "That is, Miyuki-senpai is—"

"—why should I?" comes a very familiar voice when the lift door slides open at his floor, and Furuya nearly drops his phone.

Miyuki is sitting in front of his _door_. The catcher doesn't notice him first, too busy rolling his eyes and retorting into his own phone.

"I—I-I DON'T KNOW!" yells Sawamura's distinct voice from Miyuki's phone, who holds it an arm's length away when the screech comes through. "HARUICHI SAID IT'S IMPORTANT, SO JUST LEAVE ALREADY!"

"After all the effort I made to come here in the rain?" Miyuki snorts. "Besides, if you can't tell me why I shouldn't be here then—oh, Furuya," the catcher grins when he looks up and spots Furuya standing stone still by the lift, voice purposely made more aggravating for the one on the line. "I've got to go, Sawamura, Furuya just arrived. Bye."

"—W-WAIT—MIYUKI KAZUYA DON'T YOU DARE—"

Miyuki snaps his phone shut without an inch of regret, grinning widely up at Furuya. "You're late."

"—uruya-kun?" Haruchi's voice brings Furuya back to reality. "Furuya-kun, are you there?"

"…Yes," Furuya answers quietly, keeping his eyes on Miyuki warily who watches him.

"As I was saying, Miyuki-senpai might be outside your door, so…"

"I see him."

"Oh," Haruichi exhales at length before he starts again. "Will you be okay?"

"…I...don't know," Furuya answers truthfully.

"If, if you need me or Eijun, we'll come right away, okay?" Haruichi says, and prompts him gently when he doesn't respond. "Okay?"

Furuya nods, then he realises Haruichi can't see that. "Okay," he says and hangs up when Haruichi bids him farewell after a satisfied noise.

"Was that Kominato?" Miyuki questions when he tucks his phone into his pocket. "You really don't want me here, do you?"

Furuya turns his head away at the direct statement, not willing to confirm or deny it. Miyuki chuckles anyway as the catcher pushes himself off the ground, sounding unperturbed. The water puddle on the floor catches Furuya's attention, and he finally notices that Miyuki is completely drenched, hair flat and dripping, glasses slightly fogged and clothes soaked.

"So, are you going to let me in? I brought something special for you."

Indeed Miyuki is carrying a couple of plastic bags as well as a sports sling bag over his shoulder. Furuya debates about his options, but he knows he wouldn't ask Miyuki to leave so directly like that. He eventually reluctantly unlocks his door, leaving it open for Miyuki to follow him in.

Miyuki chimes a greeting as the catcher steps in after toeing his shoes and socks off, looking around curiously.

Furuya's studio apartment is small. There's nothing fancy about it—not unless Furuya wants to spend a lot on rent money—but functional enough; a small open kitchen in the corner, an open space where a low table sits before it leads further in to a bed in a corner and a desk on the other side. The bathroom is nothing grand either, with just a shower, sink and toilet bowl. There are animal posters on the walls, almost all of polar bears, and a two framed photographs on the desk.

Miyuki is scrutinising the pictures—one of them is of Furuya and his family, the other is of Furuya with Sawamura and Kominato; Miyuki's vaguely remembers he's seen that same picture in the Kominato household—when Furuya calls for his attention.

"Senpai," Furuya pushes a folded towel and some clothes towards him.

Miyuki blinks, not entirely expecting that. "Oh. Thanks."

Furuya swallows at the sudden heart skip at that one simple word, and his fingers involuntarily twitch. Ah, he has a slow dawning of realisation that he might have underestimated Miyuki's presence in his apartment.

Miyuki relinquishes the plastic bags to him as the other disappears into the bathroom. Furuya looks into one curiously, taking out the things and setting them on the kitchen counter. There are a carton of eggs, some carrots, radish, spring onions and crab meat sticks.

"You have sugar and salt, right?" Miyuki starts from behind, startling him. "And soya sauce?"

Furuya nods slowly as he stares at the wayward strands of Miyuki's hair having been tousled by the towel now draped somewhere else. "What are you…"

"Dinner," Miyuki explains, shifting through the drawers as though he's in his own home. "Where are your bowls?"

"Senpai—"

"I'm cooking kanitama," the catcher stares at him with a smirk. "Are you sure you don't want some?"

Furuya closes his mouth immediately.

He stews moodily, unable to say no. It's been a while since he's had it—he's not fond of eating out and he's not skilled in cooking; he sticks to boiling clear soups because that goes wrong the least. He has never seen Miyuki cook but he has eaten things that Miyuki has made, like the roast chicken the other had baked for the Seido Christmas Party, and he knows Miyuki is _good_ at it, great, even.

He does want to eat kanitama.

Miyuki laughs when Furuya opens a cabinet and hands over a bowl. Furuya watches Miyuki rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the tanned skin of his toned arms before washing his hands. The catcher taps Furuya's forehead to get his attention, directing him to put rice into the rice cooker as the other arranges the other ingredients around the counter. He gets ordered to cut the carrots while Miyuki sets to work with the radish—it's so disconcerting to see Miyuki in his kitchen like the other's been there all the while, in his _clothes_ ; the shirt is loose on Miyuki's shorter frame, exposing the other's sharp collarbone.

As Furuya watches from the corner of his eyes, he notices other things too: like how Miyuki hums under his breath with a smile upon his lips, or how Miyuki flips the knife so easily in his hand and slices the radish with a speed he's only seen on cooking shows on television. He gets so absorbed into staring that he doesn't notice that he's accidently cut his finger until he cuts it for the second time; this time, deep enough that he flinches with a surprised hiss. Miyuki immediately stops and narrows his eyes when he spots the blood.

"Geez, be more careful with your hands!" Miyuki huffs, grabbing his hand roughly to shove it under running water. "If you hurt them you won't be able to pitch properly."

"I don't pitch anymore," Furuya mumbles.

"Doesn't mean that you won't again," Miyuki retorts, and Furuya's throat seizes up a little.

"It's _fine_ , senpai," he tries to say, but Miyuki ignores him.

"Where's your first aid box?"

"…I don't have one."

Miyuki actually pauses to look at him incredulously before sighing. Clucking his tongue, the catcher stalks off to where he had put his sling bag down and comes back a minute later with a plaster in hand.

"Dry your hand," he instructs. "Give it here."

Furuya doesn't have a chance to disobey since Miyuki takes his hand anyway. "Huh, your nails are a bit chipped," the other observes as he tacks on the plaster over the two cuts. "Not taking care of them properly?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," Miyuki snorts. "What if it cracks when you pitch—"

"—but _I'm not a pitcher anymore_ ," Furuya says over him, voice a little louder than usual. "Senpai."

Miyuki stares at him unflinchingly when he holds his ground as firm as he can.

"To me, you always will be," the catcher says, eyes steely.

But, but he's more than just _pitching_ , isn't he? He's proven that with a college degree and a job that has nothing to do with pitching, and if he doesn't pitch anymore, then what _else_ is he to Miyuki now? He doesn't think Miyuki will understand that and he doesn't know how to say it, so he ends up staying silent.

He looks away first, retracting his hand from Miyuki's grip. He chooses to pick up the knife and continues chopping the carrot even as Miyuki continues to look at him in silence, until Miyuki turns to face the counter again and breathes in audibly.

"…I'm sorry," Miyuki speaks up abruptly, words unexpected enough for Furuya to stop in his actions. "For whatever I did," the other continues, voice hard and halting. "I...whatever it is, I never wanted—meant—for you to stop pitching."

Miyuki's eyes are bright and golden.

"Let me make it up to you, Furuya."

Furuya curls his fingers in order to quell the tremble that starts in them. He almost nods—because, what can he do when Miyuki is looking at him like _that_ , serious and honest and uncertain and his mouth runs dry, lips half way forming words, but they die instantly when the he realises the first thing on his tongue is a confession of _I would've done anything for you, Miyuki-senpai_ —but he doesn't, not anymore.

He tears his gaze away and catches the disappointed flash in Miyuki's eyes. Guilt squeezes in his chest as they spend the next minute in tense silence, until Miyuki exhales and plasters on the usual mocking smirk.

"You're so slow, monster rookie," Miyuki raises an eyebrow, gesturing to his neatly stripped radish, diced spring onions and beaten egg yolk all ready. "Hurry up."

As Miyuki busies himself with heating up the oil and pan, Furuya stares at the fabric plaster on his finger and tries not to cut himself again.


	4. Chapter 4

It's still raining heavily after dinner.

Furuya hasn't eaten so much in a while; the kanitama had been _beyond_ delicious, and he had to ignore the obviously smug catcher watch him finish the entire remaining portion between them. He feels so stuffed and sleepy, he's halfway dozing off onto the low table that they're sitting at, except Miyuki is so close in proximity—just across the table, less than an arm's length away, with their knees occasionally knocking together under the table—and his heartbeat flutters every time he glances at the other.

When they've been sitting around for a few minutes with just empty bowls, Miyuki reaches over to drag the other plastic bag he brought along and takes out the pack of canned beer in it. He opens one can and knocks back a mouthful whilst pushing another can towards Furuya, who lifts his head a little drowsily and stares at the drink in confusion.

"You didn't want to drink with me the other day," Miyuki shrugs.

Furuya doesn't drink often—if at all; it's not that he can't, but he's never been interested in it. At Miyuki's egging smirk, he glances at the clock on his desk.

"Don't you have to go home, senpai?"

Miyuki's lips twitch. "Getting rid of me right after I cooked dinner for you?"

"...No…"

"Besides, it's still raining, you're not that heartless to send me out now, are you?" Miyuki continues, and Furuya knows the catcher is taking great delight in his own excuses. "Come on, just for a bit," the other pointedly looks at the unopened beer can.

Furuya flickers his gaze to the drink again, hesitating until he decides it can't really hurt. The first tiny sip he takes makes him cringe a little—it's a lot more bitter than he thought. "…You like beer?"

"I don't hate it," Miyuki says in reply after another mouthful. "You don't drink much, do you?"

Furuya shakes his head. He pauses a bit before pushing his can of beer towards Miyuki, and the catcher laughs.

"At least finish that."

"I don't want to."

Miyuki laughs again. Furuya isn't sure why, but the other leans on his palm and watches him intently with a gentle smile—like those he gets when he pitched well all those years ago, and his heart squeezes again.

"Let's play a game," Miyuki decides, pushing the beer can back. "I'll say something I've never done before, and if you have, you drink a mouthful until you finish that."

Furuya looks at Miyuki dubiously. "Why is it only me?"

"Fine, you can say something you've never done and if I have, I'll drink," Miyuki rolls his eyes, as though magnanimous, but he's grinning anyway. "First. I've never pitched on the mound before."

Furuya presses his lips together. It's just like Miyuki to play dirty; he reluctantly takes a sip of the beer. When he looks up and sees Miyuki's eyes glinting mischievously under the light, he immediately regrets agreeing to play—this is probably another tactic for the other to get what he wants out of him, he's sure of it.

"I've never played the catcher position before," Furuya mutters in return.

Miyuki takes his gulp of beer with more enthusiasm. "How unoriginal," he smirks. "I've never stopped playing baseball."

"…Senpai."

"What? It's valid."

Furuya frowns and drinks when all Miyuki does is to raise an eyebrow at him. "…I've never won the Asian Games."

"Furuya, I'm sure you have more ideas than just copying me," Miyuki says after taking his sip.

"Yours is all about baseball," Furuya returns, blank.

Miyuki ignores him, rubbing his own chin in thought. "Okay, I've never…lived alone."

Furuya blinks, not expecting that. "You don't?"

"Drink," Miyuki reminds him. "No, I don't. Maybe I should, but rent is so expensive. How much are you paying?" When Furuya mumbles the reply, Miyuki hums. "That's…not too bad actually. Say, is anyone here letting an apartment?"

"No."

"That was quick," Miyuki grins, voice teasing. "You don't want me as your neighbour?"

Furuya looks to the side—it's not that he doesn't want Miyuki to be—anything, okay, he doesn't, just, the idea of Miyuki being so close by is a bit startling.

"I thought you liked me as your senpai," Miyuki mutters lowly, sounding put off, when Furuya doesn't reply. "Or at least, didn't hate me."

Furuya swallows as Miyuki fixes his gaze on him, direct and challenging. "I don't," he finds himself saying, "hate you."

"Really."

And Furuya knows the other intends to dig on it more, but he doesn't want to let Miyuki lead this around like he's been led on every single match they've been a battery.

"I've never worn glasses," he says before Miyuki can prod at it deeper.

Miyuki huffs in response, but dutifully takes his drink. "I've got one that's less boring," he says, smirk on his lips. "I've never kissed a girl."

No one moves or says anything for the next half minute—Furuya is surprised, he kind of really is, because he has some sort of impression that _most_ people would have that sort of experience; discounting himself, of course, since he's never really been interested in that kind of thing, or girls in general, at the very least. Miyuki's smirk fades as he realises Furuya isn't moving to take a drink, and the catcher's eyebrows furrow.

"…You haven't?"

"No," Furuya says simply.

"Are you sure?"

"You haven't either, senpai," Furuya points out, not understanding why Miyuki is giving him that suspicious squint.

"Well, that's because I'm not interested in _girls,_ " Miyuki states blankly. "I have kissed _guys_. Unless…" he trails off, looking at Furuya pointedly.

"I've never kissed anyone," Furuya clarifies.

"Really."

"Yes."

Miyuki frowns. "Why not?"

"Why do I need to?" Furuya asks, and Miyuki scratches the back of his neck.

"You don't _have_ to, it's just," he shrugs, "Haven't you dated anyone before?"

"No."

Miyuki stares at him for a while longer before leaning forward slightly. "Hey Furuya," he starts, voice a tad huskier than usual. "Do you have someone you like?"

Under the light, the catcher's face is slightly shadowed, eyes half lidded under the spectacle frames. Furuya swallows barely noticeably, suddenly aware that his attention is strictly drawn towards Miyuki without realising it, mesmerised by how the other's tanned skin is gently flushed by the alcohol, the light colour dusted over the neck and cheeks. Miyuki's lips are moist from the beer he's been drinking, and Furuya stares at how Miyuki's tongue reaches out to wet the bottom lip.

There must have been something in his expression that Miyuki catches, because the catcher leans further forward with a darker, more teasing grin.

"Do you?" Miyuki prompts, and Furuya's line of sight immediately snaps up to Miyuki's gaze, which burns hard, fierce and playful, all at once.

It's a terrible question—one that if Miyuki had asked six years ago on the grounds of Koshien pumped up with the adrenaline and thrill, _do you have someone you like, Furuya_ , he's sure he would've said, _you, Miyuki-senpai, I like you, I really like you,_ heart open and words honest as he'd ever be. But now he finds them stuck in his throat and swallowed down before they ever get out; what's the point of ever saying this to Miyuki, he wonders, because it's now seven years of _I like you, I love you, I loved you so much until it hurt, it still hurts to know that I still love you, it still hurts to love you—_

"…Senpai," Furuya says finally, forcing himself to breathe. "You're supposed to drink."

Miyuki blinks before he sits back and snorts. He takes two gulps of his beer. "There," he says, setting the can down. "Now answer the question."

"That's not part of the game."

"You didn't even want to play the game," Miyuki points out, half grinning. "So, who is it? If it's Sawamura I'm going to laugh. "

"I never said I liked anybody."

"You never said you _didn't_ not like anyone," Miyuki counters. "And with the way you're avoiding the question, you clearly do like someone. Like how you keep looking at the clock and hoping that I leave soon."

Furuya opens his mouth, but Miyuki is staring at him coolly, daring him to retort. He closes it.

"Tell me what I did, Furuya," Miyuki says. "And I'll leave."

Furuya curls his fingers around his beer can. "I said I don't want to."

"I won't leave if you don't," Miyuki continues, calm.

"…"

"Don't ignore me, I'm serious."

"…You're still terrible, senpai," Furuya says eventually. "Please go home, it's late already."

Miyuki chuckles. "I know it's your off day tomorrow, so you can't use your work as an excuse, and you know I have this whole week off. Furuya," he starts again, voice serious. "I just," he sighs, "I just want a chance to make it better, and I—I can't do anything if I don't know what it is that caused this, and I'm _sorry_ about it, I—" he stops abruptly, inhaling sharply, taking a moment before he speaks again. "…As terrible as I am, Furuya, I've never, _ever_ wanted to hurt you in any way."

"I know," Furuya murmurs, fists clenched together under the table. "That's why I said it's not you."

"But it _is_ me, isn't it?" Miyuki retorts, eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you talked to me in the past six years? Why did Sawamura call me to yell at me that I can't see you? Why did Kominato call you about me being here? _Why don't you want me here?_ Why do you flinch every time I'm close to you?" he breathes out, barely controlled. "Why can't you even say my _name_?"

Furuya shut his eyes after a tense silence.

"…Miyuki-senpai," he forces himself to say, name weird on his tongue. "Please go home."

"It's still raining," Miyuki replies, tone obviously sour.

It's quiet in the next few minutes, where Miyuki finishes off his can of beer, and swipes Furuya's quarter-drunk can and empties that too, before grabbing the empty dishes and dumping them into the sink to wash. Furuya sits sullenly in his seat, knowing that he shouldn't be letting Miyuki wash the dishes in his own home so matter how frustrated he is with the other—but it seems that both of them need this break away from each other.

He gets up slowly and pulls out two spare thick blankets instead, since he doesn't have a futon, and an extra pillow to lay them out in the only space available next to his bed. He's still stuffing the pillow into its cover when Miyuki comes back, watching him struggle with an amused raised eyebrow.

"Give it here."

Furuya relinquishes it, and stays quiet as Miyuki slips on the cover over the pillow with much more elegance next to him. Miyuki fluffs the pillow once when it's done, staring at it with no smile.

"Thanks," Miyuki says abruptly, still staring at his own hands. "For not kicking me out."

Furuya bites imperceptibly on his bottom lip and nods. Before he stands to get up, however, Miyuki grabs his hand and pulls him down to stay seated. Immediately his heartbeat rockets, breath going winded at the unexpected action. His hand flinches in reflex to slip it away from Miyuki's touch, but Miyuki grabs on to him tight.

He didn't realise he had his eyes squeezed shut until he hears Miyuki say, "I won't hurt you," softly, the catcher's other hand resting over his to quell his trembling hand. "Okay? I won't hurt you."

Miyuki looks at him with gentle concern and intent all while keeping his hand enclosed between the catcher's, thumb absentmindedly brushing over the plaster over his finger. It's only when Furuya nods, that's when Miyuki lets go, and Furuya retreats the hand behind his back, fingers curled together.

In the darkness when they sleep, Furuya turns to his side and holds the hand close to his chest, remembering the rough calluses of Miyuki's hand over his. He picks a little at the plaster over his finger—it reminds him of the first time his nail bled and Miyuki fussed over that, and also the subsequent times when he forgot to take care of his nails. There was once Miyuki dragged him into the other's dorm to apply nail polish properly because he was doing an apparently haphazard job of it, and in that five minutes where Miyuki held his hand to keep it still he was frozen with the awareness that his heart felt like it was going to burst, thrumming hard and fast. It feels the same again seven years in, with his face hot and throat tight, especially when he peeks over the edge of his bed and spies Miyuki's sleeping back turned away from him.

* * *

When Furuya wakes, it because his stomach claws at him in hunger.

There's an amazing smell in the air, and Furuya blearily rubs his eyes as he takes a deeper inhale. He sits up after a while, stomach making noisy grumbles, and realises that it's almost edging into the afternoon, but the curtains are still drawn. The blankets next to his bed are folded and put to one side, with Miyuki nowhere to be seen—until he stands up and walks towards the kitchen, where the said catcher is standing over a sizzling pan with a spatula in hand.

"Morning, sleepy head," Miyuki grins when he enters, "I tried to wake you but you ignored me and went back to sleep."

Furuya doesn't remember any of that—but it's his off day anyway, he _should_ be allowed to sleep in. He's more distracted by the fact that Miyuki is still here, cooking what seems like okonomiyaki even. There are plastic bags on the low table which means Miyuki left to get things from a convenience store, and the catcher is wearing…another set of _his_ clothes.

Miyuki notices his stare at the clothes and purposely picks at it, smirking. "I hope you don't mind I went through your closet."

Not that Furuya can say anything about it now, can he.

"…You're not going home?" he asks, because the sky is clear today.

"I said I won't leave until you tell me, right?"

"Senpai…"

"But," Miyuki sighs, flipping the okonomiyaki in the pan. "I was thinking about it, how you're more stubborn than I am. Play catch with me today, and I'll go home. How's that sound?"

Somewhat better, but not really. "I don't want to play catch."

"But you always wanted to play catch."

"Not anymore."

"You still can play, can't you? Regardless whether you want to or not."

"I don't have a mitt," Furuya says. "Or a ball."

Miyuki breathes out, slightly annoyed. "I do," he says, staring at Furuya in challenge. "I have a baseball and a spare mitt in my sling bag."

Furuya should've known really, about what's inside Miyuki's sports sling bag if it's not sport equipment. At Furuya's silence, Miyuki prods.

"It's just catch and throw. I'm not asking you to go to a batting cage or play a proper game."

A catch and throw _sounds_ harmless, but…

"Last time, Furuya. I won't bother you about this again, promise," Miyuki says. "Ah, and that if you don't agree I'm not going to cook your portion, you can find lunch yourself."

Furuya scowls. Miyuki never plays fair. "…Okay," he mumbles.

"What? I didn't hear that."

"I said okay," he repeats louder to Miyuki's shit eating grin. "I want crab in it."

Miyuki snorts. "Fine. Go shower or something. I'll be done when you're out."

True to Miyuki's word, Furuya can taste the crab in his okonomiyaki, and true to Furuya's word, he finds himself fumbling with Miyuki's spare mitt in a small park about three blocks away from his apartment after they've eaten. Miyuki is still wearing his shirt and pants, but now with the other's signature sport glasses and cap turned to one side.

"Hey, don't tell me you've forgotten how to wear that," Miyuki nudges him, playfully tossing the ball in his other hand.

Furuya stuffs his hand into the mitt. It feels weird and heavy, and he experimentally open and closes his palm; it's been too long since he's worn one. Miyuki backs away a couple of steps and tosses the ball towards him—he reaches out but misses, and Miyuki's roaring laughter can probably be heard all the way to his apartment.

"Monster rookie, you can't be _that_ out of shape!" Miyuki calls out as he chases after the ball bouncing away.

Furuya sulks a little and throws the ball back to Miyuki with a huff. His aim is off, but Miyuki catches it smoothly, as expected. It's annoying.

"You can throw harder than that," Miyuki says, moving backwards to put more distance between them before tossing it over again.

This time Furuya makes sure to catch it—the ball nearly bounces out of the mitt, but he pulls it close to his chest before it does. Miyuki is grinning brightly across the park, mitt in the air and ready for his turn. He throws it hard; not as hard as if he were to pitch, but enough for the impact into the open mitt. They toss and catch the ball to and fro for the next couple of minutes—this, Furuya doesn't mind all that much—though it is a bit distracting to have Miyuki smiling at him across the field, but his motor memory isn't all that rusty as he thought it is, with the swing of his arm easing up naturally.

But of course Miyuki didn't propose this game of catch and throw without a hidden intent. After about ten minutes, Furuya finds himself at a distance that's usual from where the mound is to first base, and when Miyuki crouches down into that familiar position, Furuya lowers the arm that has been raised to toss the ball over.

"Senpai…" he starts, but Miyuki is too far away to hear him unless he raises his voice.

Miyuki beckons him with his free hand. "Give me your best shot, Furuya!"

Furuya looks at the ball between his fingers, and then at the figure crouched opposite him. Suddenly it feels like he's back in Seido, during one of their night practices with the field empty except for them, and Furuya can only see the mitt open and ready for him whilst everything else was blinded in white. Miyuki is waiting calmly, but the other's eyes are daring him, _can you still pitch, Furuya, even though you've ran away from it for five years; are you still running?_

He says that _he doesn't want to_ but Miyuki asks if he _can_ —and Furuya certainly can, he knows he can, he hasn't had to endure the terrible ache in his heart whenever he sees Miyuki on the news or on the field for years without finally managing to put that aside and stand on his own feet, he's not _just_ a pitcher but a boy can pitch if he wants to, and is so much more.

Maybe this is why he brings his leg up, twists his torso and swings his arm down, letting the ball fly from his fingers.

Miyuki catches the incoming ball with no effort. "That was so weak!" the other calls at him, throwing it back. "I know you can pitch properly, so do it!"

Furuya grips the ball tight in his palm. The second time he lets the ball fly, he hears _, bring your arm down fully_ , echoing in his ears, and in front of him Miyuki reaches his arm out to catch the ball that he has thrown much too high.

The ball gets tossed back to him again.

Furuya blows on his fingertips before adjusting his stance, eyes focused on the mitt. It's been years since he's moved the muscles in his pitching play—there is a dull stretch in his back and the underside of his leg—but his fingers and arm remember how it's like to pitch his signature fastball. This third lacks power again, and the fourth, control, but the fifth feels like he's on the mound in Koshien, with his breathing heavy and concentration intense on the golden eyes waiting for him, with the voice, _look at me, Furuya, just look at me_ , resounding in his head.

His pitch silces through the air faster than ever, slamming straight into the centre of Miyuki's mitt.

Even at this distance he can see Miyuki's lips curl up, pleased, with the mouth forming the words, "Nice ball."

His breath catches, elation bubbling up to tease his heart, followed by the cold sinking realisation that this isn't Koshien—but it's still Miyuki who has the ability to do that so simply. If it was Okumura or Yui, would he still be happy about pitching a nice ball? He knows he wasn't six years ago, but he doesn't know now, he's afraid to know again, that all these years have passed and he isn't anything more than a boy who wants Miyuki to be there, always.

He nearly misses catching the return ball Miyuki tosses to him. He holds it, staring at it for a moment before lowering his hand. When he takes off the mitt, Miyuki comes jogging up towards him, puzzled.

"What's up? You're tired already? It's been less than an hour."

"I don't want to play anymore," he says, avoiding the catcher's gaze.

Miyuki's eyebrows furrow when he turns to make way out of the park, and the other halts him by the arm in an unforgiving grip.

"That's not true. You know it's not true," Miyuki says. "Furuya, you always wanted to pitch, to stand on the mound more than anyone. You still do."

"I don't."

"Furuya—"

" _I don't,"_ Furuya repeats more firmly, almost bordering on aggressive. "Why is this so important to you, senpai? This is my life _. And I don't want to pitch anymore_."

But Miyuki holds his gaze piercingly. "But you would, if not for me. I took that away from you, I just want to give it back."

"I don't _want_ it back."

"Why not?" Miyuki pushes, eyes glinting darkly. "You don't have to play baseball with me, but if you still can play with Sawamura or Kominato—"

Furuya swallows, fingers curling around the baseball in his hand so tight that his knuckles bleed white.

"Why is everything about baseball with you, senpai?" he abruptly starts heatedly, voice louder than usual. "Why is it so hard to accept that I don't want to play it anymore? Is—is it wrong that I want to do something else with my life? That, that I'm…— _more_ than just a pitcher?"

Miyuki blinks as if slapped, but his grip on Furuya's arm doesn't slack. "…I. I didn't mean that," he begins, voice low. "I—I…but I know that pitching made you happy, Furuya, ever since I first caught your pitch in the hall, I know you love it more than anyone else I know, it's _important_ to you, so why wouldn't you not want to play it for fun, at the very least?"

"I don't want to."

"—but _why_?"

"It doesn't make me happy anymore."

"Furuya—"

" _Because it hurts, Miyuki-senpai!"_ Furuya snaps cuttingly, frustrated. "Because I see you whenever I pitch, even if you're not there. And I—I wanted you there. I wanted you to always be there and you weren't, and still hurts even when you are."

Maybe he's not making any sense, but he doesn't know how to put all these feelings into words that anyone else will ever understand. Miyuki's mouth had snapped shut when he had suddenly raised his voice, the catcher's expression indescribably stunned.

"…Because I-I _love_ you so much and I don't—I don't…" he says, words trembling out of his mouth. "You can't fix this, Miyuki-senpai, because it's _me,"_ he swallows roughly, trying not to choke but he does anyway.

Miyuki is still staring, honey brown eyes wide and lips slightly apart. Furuya turns away sharply, unable to look at the other any longer.

"…S-so please…go home, Miyuki-senpai," he whispers finally before yanking his arm away and stalking off, never once looking back.

Miyuki doesn't chase after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Furuya closes his eyes indulgently for a few seconds. His hands are absentmindedly buried into Miko's fur, the youngest polar bear they have which he's mainly responsible for, patting her softly as she dozes with her head on his lap. He might or might not have fallen asleep for a few minutes, only startling awake when someone pats the top of his head.

"Furuya-kun, wake up," Sagara smiles at him, and he tries to pretend that he was merely just distracted. "You okay? You seem tired lately….more than usual, at least. You can leave earlier today if you want to."

Furuya shakes his head in response. "I'm fine."

Sagara sighs and sits next to him. "I'm serious though. We don't have much else left to do except for clean up. It's really empty today even though it's a Saturday," she continues, joining him in petting the bear cub. "It's probably the rain. I wish it'd stop soon."

Furuya doesn't. It's been raining the past few consecutive days. Though it's a bit inconvenient when it gets too heavy, Furuya would rather have the cooler weather than the heat. Also, there's less chance that M—

"Come on, let's go find Kousuke," Sagara says, clapping him on the shoulder before she stands up and stretches. "He said he'd be with the rabbits but I can't find him anywhere…"

Furuya takes special care in setting Miko down from his lap, ensuring that the cub is comfortable before following after Sagara, who turns and chides him gently for his slow steps. They eventually find Kousuke being hassled by overexcited penguins, probably thanks to the food bucket that the other is holding out of reach. All in all, it's a relatively normal day at work, but Furuya doesn't really want to go home after his shift, away from the animals and back to the four walls of his tiny apartment. He doesn't want to go home and hope that—

"Hey, Furuya, is that someone you know?"

Furuya blinks, line of sight immediately jerking to the direction that Kousuke is pointing to when they both exit the staff doors of the zoo near the shelter at the main entrance. A figure is charging rather adamantly in their direction, brown eyes large and eyebrows pulled, with the person's hands clutching at least three large plastic bags.

"—URUYA! FURUYA HEY! OVER HERE!"

Furuya clutches the strap of his backpack and looks away. "…Yeah…"

"OI FURUYA DON'T IGNORE ME!" Sawamura all but yells even though they're merely five steps apart at this moment. "At least pretend to look happy to see me, dammit!"

"E-eijun—!" Haruichi calls breathless as the pink-haired youth comes running up from behind, hands struggling with more bulging plastic bags. "I told you not to run at him!"

"He was trying to get away—!"

"…I didn't see you…" Furuya mumbles under his breath, but Sawamura continues over him.

"—and we've been waiting for half an hour already! I'm tired!"

"Ah, more friends of yours, Furuya?" Kosuske chuckles. "And I thought Miyuki Kazuya was a surprise."

"Miyuki?" Sawamura latches on immediately, curious. "You know Miyuki too?"

"Not personally, but he came to pick Furuya up on Monday," Kousuke explains, and Furuya tries hard to ignore the stare Sawamura and Haruichi shoot to him in surprise. "Do you two…play baseball as well? You both look familiar."

Sawamura grins, jabbing his thumb to his chest. "I'm the ace pitcher for Saitama! And Harucchi plays for the Yomiuri Giants!"

"Ah! Yes, I've seen you before! And You! Kominato! The number four!" Kousuke exclaims, eyes wide. "I saw you on tv last night against the Marines! Your batting sense is amazing, especially the last home run!"

"Well…thank you…" Haruichi mumbles bashfully.

"Wow," Kosuke breathes. "You two must be from Seido too, huh. Hey, Furuya, you never mentioned you keep in touch with so many baseball players," he pouts, nudging the other.

Furuya shrugs loosely. "…You never asked…"

"Where are you all headed off to now?"

"We thought we'd have nabe at your place, Furuya-kun," Haruichi says, lifting the plastic bags. "It's been a while."

Sawamura nods in strong agreement, staring at Furuya hard.

Furuya looks away. He owns a hot pot, one that his mother sent to him when he moved back to Tokyo, and ever since the first time Sawamura found it in his house he's been assigned as the default person to go when they want to eat nabe.

"Nice," Kousuke grins. "Well, enjoy yourselves. I have to go to pick my sister up from cram school," he sighs, but smiles after. "I'll see you tomorrow, Furuya, have fun."

Furuya nods after Kousuke has ruffled his hair and the other hurries into the rain, disappearing from view. He looks at Sawamura and Haruichi after, who both look at him expectantly and eventually he nods his agreement—then again, he probably can't say no to hot pot, especially when the other two had probably bought everything already. He hopes they bought some crab sticks.

When they reach his apartment, all of them are soaking wet—Sawamura and Haruichi's absence of free hands to hold an umbrella and Furuya's stubbornness to take out his umbrella—and they take some time to dry off and warm up as they leave the soup to boil in the hot pot.

Sawamura lies on the floor with a towel over his head and the portable heater right next to him, looking around in boredom until he sees a familiar bag leaning against the wall near the front door.

"Hey, isn't that Miyuki's—"

" _Shh!"_ Haruichi shushes, jabbing Sawamura side with his toe.

"—ow, _Harucchi!"_ Sawamura whines, but he shuts up when Furuya turns to look at them slowly. "N-nothing! It's nothing!"

Furuya frowns a bit but ignores it since Sawamura doesn't say anything more—if Sawamura wanted to say something, Furuya is sure he'd hear it. Except when they're dumping the raw meat into the hot pot, Sawamura just won't stop _fidgeting_ , and fifteen minutes after Furuya has eaten most of the tray of crab meat sticks, he finally decides to ask.

"…What is it?"

Sawamura startles so badly that he drops the fishball he was fishing out of the hot pot back into the soup, causing it to splatter everywhere and earning simultaneous flinches.

"Eijun!"

"S-sorry!" Sawamura curses. "That was Furuya's fault, he scared me!"

"You didn't answer my question," Furuya says.

"Huh? I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"I asked what is it," Furuya repeats blankly. "Your knees keep knocking into mine under the table."

"Isn't that because you're stretching out your legs?" Sawamura retorts. "Sit properly so I can have some space!"

"You also keep looking at me."

"—I-I _do not!"_

"So what is it? It's annoying."

Sawamura glowers. "I'm, I'm just trying to be considerate, okay?!" he huffs.

"About what?"

"About you and Miyu—"

" _Eijun!"_ Haruichi cuts in sternly, and Sawamura scrunches his face up.

"What? I've been quiet! About it!" he says, annoyed. "But I want to know too! It's not fair how you know what's going on and I don't!" he crosses his arms. "And Miyuki won't tell me anything either, he's just been ignoring my calls and texts, so I'm just going to say it! Oi, Furuya, what's up with you and Miyuki?"

When Furuya puts down his chopsticks after that outburst, Sawamura freezes.

"I mean," Sawamura starts a bit more subdued. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but, last Saturday you looked…" he swallows, "like…you wanted to…c-cry or something, and on Tuesday…."

And on Wednesday Miyuki never came after him, and he hasn't seen nor heard from Miyuki since.

"…Furuya?" Sawamura reaches out when Furuya doesn't respond, starting to panic. "Are, are you going to cry? Because—shit, I am so—sorry, I-I—"

"I'm not," Furuya states, lifting his head to look flatly at Sawamura.

"Oh," Sawamura exhales. "Okay. So, what's going on with you and Miyuki? He's annoying for sure, but—"

"Furuya-kun," Haruichi cuts in gently, giving Sawamura a look. "You can tell us, if it's okay with you."

Furuya exhales slowly and closes his eyes briefly. Suddenly, saying it feels like nothing, maybe because he's already given so much weight to the first ones that were said, and he has no more to give.

"I love him," Furuya says, matter of fact, staring at the hot pot bubbling away.

"Okay, but—w- _WHAT_?" Sawamura splutters. _"W-what did—what did you say?"_

Furuya pulls his legs up and bows his head between his knees. His face feels aflame abruptly, even though it was stone cold just seconds before. "I. I love Miyuki-senpai. Since Seido," he mumbles, hands curling up on his knees.

"When you say… _'l-love'_ …" Sawamura begins after a period of silence. "…you mean…?" he trials off into more silence. "So all these years…that's why you didn't want to come with us to see Miyuki?"

Furuya nods.

"Why?" Sawamura asks, genuinely confused. "If, if you like someone, don't you want to talk to them more?"

Furuya clenches his palms. "…I don't," he whispers. "I don't want to see him when already I see him everywhere."

Furuya isn't even aware that he's trembling until Haruichi shuffles closer to him and places a reassuring hand on his back. "Furuya-kun, what happened? I said you could call us, if you needed to."

When Sawamura crawls closer to him to awkwardly pat his shoulder in comfort, Furuya lowers his head. "…He left."

"What do you mean?"

"I told him I loved him, and he left," Furuya states.

Sawamura's descent from dawn of realisation to anger is nearly palpable. "—…Miyuki did _WHAT_?" he spits. "He, he didn't say anything? He just… _left_?"

"...I told him to go home."

The southpaw digs into his pocket for his phone, scrolling through his contacts aggressively. "Miyuki Kazuya…" Sawamura glares, baring his teeth. "How dare he—…I-I'll tell him—"

"Eijun—"

But Furuya catches Sawamura by the edge his shirt before the other presses the dial button, ready to unleash.

"Furuya, don't stop me—!"

Furuya shakes his head furiously, and Sawamura lets his hand drop from the phone.

"Why?" Sawamura demands. "He should know better than to leave without saying anything, especially after you told him you…" he swallows angrily, "—he was the one who came looking for you, he didn't want to leave even when I said it hard for you! You should've locked him out," he concludes with a huff, crossing his arms.

But Furuya casts his glance away, and Haruichi notices.

"…But you couldn't," Haruichi says softly. "You could never push him away."

Even after six years, Furuya still succumbs to Miyuki's presence. It's really no wonder that he can't seem to find his feet after tripping and falling, vision in a haze and emotions numb.

"Don't find Miyuki-senpai," Furuya says finally. "Please."

Sawamura looks unconvinced but the other eventually huffs out his agreement, stuffing his mouth with the meat that they've neglected in the hot pot in a bid to vent his frustration. Haruichi smiles at the southpaw's antics, but he leans slightly towards Furuya.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, eyes visible through his swept bangs. "It's okay not to be."

Honestly, Furuya doesn't know—but days go by like clockwork, and he doesn't think of Miyuki, unless it's at night and he's staring up at the ceiling in darkness and his chest hurts, and when he closes his eyes he sees Miyuki staring at him with that open mouth gape of shock. He can just imagine that face twisting into one of those fake smiles Miyuki wears that he hates so much, the kind that his classmates had given him when they said 'I can't play with you anymore, I'm busy with homework, you know?' while they whispered behind his back, ' _Monster_.'

Sawamura doesn't want to leave after dinner, but Furuya reminds him that he, unlike most people, work on weekends and he wants to sleep.

"That's your excuse every time," Sawamura argues, but obediently steps out. "We'll be back!" he waves his finger threateningly. "And if Miyuki comes here again, tell me so I can kick his ass, got it?"

Furuya ignores him.

"Thanks for letting us use the hotpot," Haruichi says, smiling gently. "See you soon."

Before they leave, Furuya glances down at the sling bag next to his feet. It's been bugging him ever since Wednesday, and he doesn't want to look at it anymore.

"Take this," he says, grabbing it and pushing it to Sawamura who frowns and tries to shove it back to him.

"You should—"

"Please. And don't…" he exhales. "…say anything to Miyuki-senpai. I…don't want to see him anymore."

"How do you expect me to—" Sawamura begins, but stops and grumbles with a frown. "…Fine. But you call me if he comes, hear me?"

Furuya nods, if not a little annoyed as well. He closes his door when the other two disappear into the lift. It's a little late, but Furuya doesn't feel all that sleepy as he had given Sawamura the impression—how can he, when Miyuki is back at the forefront of his mind again, after trying so hard not to think of the catcher for the past few days. The way Miyuki had barged into his private space with a grin he had always been weak for, the way Miyuki fussed over his hand, the way Miyuki had held his hand gently, the husky voice murmuring, _I won't hurt you_ , _I won't hurt you,_ and he wanted to believe it, that being in love with Miyuki wouldn't hurt but it always has, sharp and painful through the heart.

He pulls out his undone laundry since Sawamura and Haruichi had cleared the kitchen for him, needing something to do, and sorts the whites and colours apart. But at the bottom of the basket he takes out a soft cotton shirt, the one Miyuki had worn to sleep, and his hand tightens around it unconsciously.

It somehow reminds him of the very first time that Miyuki lent him his inner shirt because he was sweating too much, and he had taken nearly two weeks to finally return it because he did not know how to say, _can I keep this, Miyuki-senpai, because it's important to me_ , because for the first time in his life there was schoolmate who thought he was significant enough to be cared about.

It's incredibly stupid, but the first thing that he nearly does is to bring the shirt to his face. He's halfway there when he stops in time, finding himself kneeling on the floor with both hands clutching that black fabric between his hands close to his chest. Miyuki had worn it so easily, so comfortably, that Furuya had for a split second selfishly _wanted_ them to be real, that Miyuki would stand in his kitchen like it's home for both of them.

And it _hurts_ , it hurts so much that they aren't and never will be, and Furuya is sure that even if they are, it'd still hurt because there's still more that he would want.

He thinks about that ' _Nice ball'_ compliment, and how it's a line that made his heart beat the fastest in all the six years that have passed. He thinks about the ferocity rocketing through his frame when he released his pitch—his signature fastball that Coach Ochiai had once said could be the best in Japan—that he could feel the thrill and energy from his restless bones just itching to launch his latent power somewhere, towards _someone_ who would never fail to catch it.

But he's not a pitcher anymore; there's reason to feel this way, or want to feel this way. So he forces himself to put the shirt into the coloured pile and grabs the whole heap to dump it in the washing machine. He loads too much detergent from how hard he squeezes the bottle, and shuts it close, letting the machine do its job of washing away any lingering traces of Miyuki.

He takes a shower while the machine is running, letting the hot spray ease up his tense muscles. But the longer he stands under the running water the more his fingers curl together cupped in front of him, and after staring at them for so long, he finally closes his eyes and presses his nose between them and inhales—

But there's nothing left to take in.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a mundane afternoon.

Furuya sleeps in, groggily waking up past noon. On his off days, Furuya doesn't use an alarm. It's his only indulgence for waking up at ungodly hours in the morning to get to work on time. Then again, it's comparable to how he wakes—or used to wake, when he was in Seido running rounds around the tracks every morning with Sawamura before morning practice. He doesn't run much anymore, but he still does muscle training at an old gym about four blocks away. Today seems like a day he should get some stretches in, but instead he buries his head into his pillow until his stomach claws at him for food.

Grudgingly he gets up and takes a shower, whipping up a simple noodle soup after. As he eats, he checks his phone which is surprisingly quiet today; no texts or calls from Sawamura or Haruichi to hang out. It just means he has no excuse to not do his laundry that has been piling up. When he's just set the timer on the washing machine, his doorbell rings, and it rings again when he takes his time to put the detergent bottle back in place. Furuya blinks—because the mail man would only ring twice if there's a parcel he needs to sign. He hasn't ordered anything online, and his mother hadn't said she was going to send him anything.

It is perhaps even more unexpected that when Furuya opens his door with a pen in hand, Miyuki is there.

About five weeks have passed—and in that time, Furuya has pushed Miyuki out of his mind as he has for the past five years, such that the ache is low and dull and only sharp when he picks at it. Mundane clockwork routine makes it easy for him to forget how many days have passed since he's seen Miyuki face to face; the national team plays against the Swallows in the meantime, and it's the first match that Furuya doesn't go to watch. He doesn't think he can, he doesn't think he can see Miyuki playing so smoothly like the genius the catcher is, like nothing has ever happened in Miyuki's personal life to affect the other's playing. He's probably just a little blimp in Miyuki's life outside of baseball, just a quiet junior who has never impacted Miyuki much.

In a way, he doesn't _expect_ Miyuki to look for him again—Miyuki's always been distant, with _everyone_ ; on the field he knows that Miyuki is genuine, but off field the smiles are often carefully constructed with hidden intent and meaning.

But Miyuki is here, in casual clothes in the afternoon on his off day, standing in front of him with one of those carefully constructed smiles, and Furuya closes the door immediately into the catcher's face.

The pen he was holding has long clattered to the ground and rolled to the wall. His fingertips are numb, still placed on the door knob. He leans his forehead against the door, mind swirling and barely breathing.

 _Why—_

"…Furuya?" come Miyuki's voice, tentative and unsure. "Can we talk?"

When Furuya stays silent, Miyuki knocks on the door quietly. "Furuya, if you can hear me, I…I understand if you don't want to see me, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come back, but I—…" the catcher breaks off with a sharp inhale. "…Can we talk? Please?"

It's rare that Miyuki says 'please' in a tone that wavers.

Furuya swallows, stepping away from the door in numb panic.

"Furuya? I'll wait. Outside," Miyuki says from opposite the door. "Until you're ready."

But what if he never is?

Furuya digs around his bed to find his phone, but when it finds it on the kitchen counter instead with a finger ready to call Sawamura, he stops. He _should_ call Sawamura, he _doesn't want_ to see Miyuki anymore, he said it himself, but, _but_ , his heart feels like it's in his mouth. It's just, it's _Miyuki_ —and Haruichi had been right, he has never been able to say no to Miyuki, if the other pushed hard enough.

Because this isn't Miyuki's fault; it's _his_ , it's because _he_ can't stop loving Miyuki, whatever hell it has been.

When he opens the door again, it's apparent that Miyuki doesn't expect him to do so in such a short time—Miyuki had been leaning against the door, such that when Furuya opens it, Miyuki falls back first toward him, and Furuya jerks backwards in shock and trips over his own feet. His palms hurt from breaking his fall, but it's nothing compared to the sharp pinch in his chest when Miyuki reaches out to try and find purchase by his legs, brushing against his shin. He flinches so hard that it puts an obvious distance between them, and when Miyuki meets his eyes, he looks away immediately, face burning.

Miyuki retracts his hand hesitantly, pushing himself to stand up instead. Furuya does the same, and unconsciously moves one more step back.

"…Why are you here, senpai?" Furuya mumbles, clenching his fists close to his sides.

"To talk," Miyuki replies, but that's not what Furuya is asking.

Why is Miyuki here; for himself, or for him?

"Can I come in?" Miyuki asks after, even though the catcher is already standing in the hallway.

Furuya minutely bites his bottom lip—he doesn't know what he's doing, honestly.

"Just hear me out," Miyuki says, golden eyes serious. "And then if you want me to leave, I'll leave."

Furuya gives a jerky nod after a while, but he doesn't move from where he is.

"…Um, right here?" Miyuki scratches the back of his neck after a five second silence.

"It's fine."

"Okay," Miyuki blinks, turning to close the door, but he stops when he notices that Furuya shuffles a half step back. "Furuya," he pauses, "I can leave it open if you want."

Furuya swallows and looks away. "…It's fine," he says again.

Miyuki closes the door with a gentle click behind him. He stays where he is, eyes roaming around the apartment before settling back onto Furuya, who waits tentatively for him.

"Okay," Miyuki breathes in, and purses his lips. "Okay. Okay, I…look, I just…I…." he starts, rubbing the back of his neck more vigorously, "—shit, I….Furuya, I just….." he trails off, and furuya has never seen Miyuki so hesitant. " _I'm sorry_ ," he says finally. "I'm sorry I didn't notice how you felt towards me. I…" he exhales. "I did think, once, in Seido, that you… _might_ …have liked me, but you never said anything or gave a hint any more than you wanted me to catch your pitches and…and that's not the point, I just," he closes his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry I can't return your feelings."

It's not like Furuya has ever expected anything more, but hearing it, out in the open and direct, it _hurts_.

"Furuya?" Miyuki says softly, and Furuya's heart trembles, but he can't bring himself to look at the catcher. "Furuya, I…I had to think. About this. About you, and me, and…I had trainings and a match and I guess I was avoiding it until Sawamura came to yell at me," he half-chuckles dryly. "But now I'm sure."

"You said I couldn't fix this, because it's you," he continues. "You're wrong," he states firmly, eyes hard. "Because there's _nothing_ to fix, if this is what you truly want. If you don't want to pitch any more, you don't have to. But if it's because of me and not because of baseball, then please, don't throw it away because of me," he cracks a twitch of his lips. "I'm not worth it."

"Furuya," Miyuki prompts when Furuya stays quiet and withdrawn. "I'm sure we can do something about this if you'll talk to me," comes Miyuki's voice softer and warmer than he's ever heard. "Furuya, look at me," the catcher murmurs after a period of silence. "Please look at me."

Furuya slowly lifts his head. Miyuki is standing close to him, the distance between them somehow shortened in the time that has passed. He doesn't know what kind of expression he has on, but Miyuki's features soften when the other reaches for him hesitantly and cups his face gently.

Furuya immediately flinches at the touch, but Miyuki holds him still, thumb brushing over his cheek. Furuya thinks his face must be on fire with how hard he blushes involuntarily, eyes squeezing shut in fear, while his hands go cold and useless as he tries to find purchase on Miyuki, eventually gripping the other's shirt. A few seconds pass and nothing happens, which gives Furuya a little courage to open his eyes, but his breath hitches when he realises how close Miyuki is.

"…—M-miyuki-senpai—" he tries to protest, but his voice is small and it gets swallowed into a whimper when Miyuki tugs him closer and meets their mouths together.

Furuya doesn't think he breathes.

The pressure against his mouth eases up slightly after a few seconds, but it presses against his again, this time warmer and wetter. Miyuki licks gently against his barely parted lips, kissing him softly until their tongues brush against each other, and Furuya feels his heart clench with every touch. When Miyuki finally pulls back, breath warm and ghosting over his lips, Furuya realises that his hands are curled and trembling around Miyuki's wrists.

Miyuki offers him a uncertain gentle smile, and Furuya's throat clogs—tears well up thick in his eyes, leaking down just as his fingers come to a rest over his lips and his face blooms with heat.

"Don't cry," Miyuki murmurs with a wry smile. "How old are you already?"

Furuya sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut, the tears flowing even harder. He tries to wipe them away but Miyuki gently takes his hands away from his face, thumbing the wetness away.

"Hey, it's okay," Miyuki whispers. "It's okay, Furuya."

"…You're horrible, Miyuki-s-senpai," he manages, choking on the syllable.

"I know," Miyuki murmurs softly, still gently wiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Furuya grabs the catcher blindly, burying his face into the other's shoulder. When he inhales, he remembers the same scent that engulfed him when he wore the Miyuki's inner shirt all those years ago, he remembers thumbing at the fabric after and being giddy with a feeling he couldn't describe, he remembers folding it with care after washing it and putting it on his top drawer so he could see it every morning until he finally conceded to give it back to Miyuki.

"I miss you, Miyuki-senpai, I really miss you," he admits, voice hoarse. "I really, _really_ miss you."

"I'm here," Miyuki says, patting the back of his head.

"You weren't," Furuya mumbles, throat tight. "I saw you everywhere and I wanted all of them to be you, Miyuki-senpai, I…wanted you to find me, for once."

"I know," Miyuki exhales. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I…I thought you would keep in contact with me, like how you always looked for me to play catch. I guess I was…disappointed, that you didn't like me enough to do that. And then I heard you moved to Hokkaido and I thought we'd catch up if you ever came down to Tokyo, and I…I just thought _you'd_ find me, at some point. I should've done something about it, I'm sorry it had to come to this."

Furuya shakes his head. "…When we won Koshien, you said you'd watch me next year, and you didn't, and I…"

"…I did," Miyuki says after a length of silence. "I saw you strike out the last batter."

Furuya grips him so tight. "Don't lie."

"I couldn't be there in person," Miyuki continues, tone calm in his ear. "But I saw it. I was watching the match with the team while we on the train to Okinawa. The 158 km/h fastball. It was a beautiful pitch."

It was—even Furuya remembers the power surging to his fingertips, to the ball, to where he wanted Miyuki to—

"My manager said that you were coming to visit the team in two weeks time, and I thought I could congratulate you then, but you never came," Miyuki sighs softly. "I'm sorry this is five years late, Furuya, but it's one of the best pitches I've ever seen. It was truly beautiful."

"That's why I said you'll always be a pitcher to me. As a catcher, you have my upmost respect," he continues when Furuya stays silent. "It's not that you aren't anything more—Furuya, you have a university degree and a job you love, that's more than most people have in their mid-twenties. That's more than I'll ever have," he adds on with a dry chuckle. "You are more than you think you are. You always have been, monster-rookie," he snorts, clapping Furuya's back almost fondly.

When Furuya extracts himself from the catcher, Furuya messily wipes at his eyes and nose until Miyuki searches around for a tissue to give it to him.

"You've been keeping a lot inside for many years," Miyuki says, hand atop on his head. "What do you want, Furuya? Do you want me to leave, or do you want me to stay?"

Of course, there's no doubt that he wants Miyuki to stay, but the clench in his heart—

"I'm not asking which one you think is the right choice. What do you truly _want_ , Furuya?"

Furuya fiddles with the ruined tissue in hand before looking up. "…You're being nice," he states finally.

"Hm?"

"It's not like you."

"That's rude," Miyuki huffs, indignant.

"You don't have to do this just because I said I love you," Furuya mutters.

Miyuki closes his eyes briefly. "…Please give me a warning before you say that."

"Which."

"That."

"…I love y—"

"Yes, that," Miyuki interrupts. "It's not that I don't—appreciate it, I just," he exhales quietly. "It's been a long time since anyone said that to me. Anyway," he clears his throat. "That's off topic. Maybe it's not my fault that it hurts, but I'm still… _responsible_ , right? If there's anything that I can do to make it better, I will."

"I don't want your pity, Miyuki-senpai."

"It's not pity."

"Then, I don't want your guilt."

"It's not—" Miyuki inhales sharply. "…that. As hard as it is to believe, but I do care about you, Furuya. I care whether you keep hurting like this, I care that you _don't_ have to keep hurting like this. Or maybe, hurt less," he licks his lips hesitantly. "I don't know for sure, but I thought it would be stupid if I don't at least try. Let's start with being…friends, Furuya. You spent six years avoiding me—how about six years with me, and then we'll call it even?"

Furuya casts his gaze down. "…If you're kind to me, Miyuki-senpai, I'll just fall in love with you more."

"Is it so bad to love me?" Miyuki smirks, one eyebrow raised. "Just kidding. Ah," he pauses abruptly. "I—I didn't—…mean that. That wasn't on purpose, if, if it's easier for you that I leave, I—"

"Stay."

Miyuki blinks at that soft uttered word, to Furuya who looks away quickly with a hue of pink on his cheeks and his eyes slightly rimmed red. The catcher takes one of Furuya's hands, which curls when he lifts it, and holds it between his warm palm. Furuya flushes darkly when their gazes meet—Miyuki isn't sure how he's ever missed this before, but it's all too clear now; including the loud thudding heartbeat and rocketing pulse just at the edge of his fingertips. He smiles, and this time Furuya holds his hand tighter instead of pulling it away.

"First," Miyuki says blandly when he squints at Furuya's fingers. "Let's cut your nails."


	7. epilogue

_4 months later._

" _Kazuya,_ " Mei calls in that sing song voice, leaning against one of their teammates who's sitting down tossing balls for Miyuki to bat into the net. "Your boyfriend is here."

Miyuki scowls, lowering his bat. "How many times must we go through this—"

"Yadda yadda don't let Toru-chan hear you or I'll kill you yadda yadda," Mei rolls his eyes, pressing further on their teammate's shoulders without an ounce of regard for either of them. "Whatever. He's here so you can go and pretend you have a life."

Their teammate sniggers, but stops still when Miyuki turns to glare at him.

It's down season—winter is lightening up, but they still can't play in the fields yet, so they're stuck with body conditioning or whatever their personal menu calls for that they can fit in an indoor hall. It's pretty much an 'own time own target' kind of schedule, but players in the national team are workaholics by default, which is why pretty much everyone has gotten familiar with the quiet black haired youth that comes by every other Wednesday evening that leaves with their catcher.

Furuya picks at the straps of the backpack he carries, looking at the blank walls of the hall at the entrance until Miyuki comes walking up to him with a bat in hand, sweaty and smiling bright. His neck warms at the view.

"Good evening, Miyuki-senpai."

"You're early," Miyuki notes, giving his shoulder a light pat. "Changing room is that way," he thumbs to his right. "Find me in the bullpen when you're done."

" _Kazuya_ —"

" _Mei,_ " Miyuki grits his teeth. "Please shut your mouth. Go and get changed, Furuya," he cocks his head towards the other.

Furuya nods and bows slightly towards Mei, who had trailed behind Miyuki in curiosity, before walking off towards the direction Miyuki pointed at earlier.

"What? I was just going to ask where you two were going for dinner," Mei smirks when Furuya is gone. "But you're not going for dinner," he observes.

"Nope."

"So…?"

"What?"

"What is he doing here then?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Don't tell me…is this a baseball date?" Mei grins. "You're pathetic Kazuya, can't you even spare some change to bring Toru-chan to a batting cage instead of your _workplace_?"

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," Miyuki states, walking off calmly towards the bullpen.

"Hey, Kazuya, we have a _policy_ here, and—"

"I cleared it with the captain already," Miyuki interrupts, annoyed. "If you want to stay and watch, fine, but if you're going to keep talking, just go home already!"

Mei sours, but he brightens up with a shit eating grin when Furuya makes his way towards them slowly, occasionally bumping into the other players in their workout and apologising softly.

Four months has passed since their _talk_ ; in the first month, they had dinner at the ramen stall they went the first time about once a week to get used to each other again—Miyuki talks to fill the silence that lingers when Furuya watches him quietly. Miyuki doesn't bring up baseball until he casually mentions that maybe Furuya might want to start by playing catch with Sawamura and Kominato; and it still surprises him that Furuya had paused and shook his head and said, " _I want you to catch my pitch, Miyuki-senpai._ " instead, blunt and sincere all at once, just like the very first time.

But Furuya hasn't pitched for five years, and Miyuki found himself laughing till he was breathless under the night sky in the small park near Furuya's apartment, while Furuya panted and glared at him from a distance away, too tired to pitch after a mere half an hour. There are many things that need to be worked on for Furuya to reach the level he was at Koshien—but Miyuki thinks he can let that slide when he sees the burning hunger and Furuya's eyes again when the other raises his leg and flings the ball as hard as he can across him.

They usually play catch outside, but today is a special case—Miyuki knows he can wheedle hard, and he's gotten Furuya to buy a compression shirt and a mitt so that the other can maybe one day play _actual_ baseball again. He invites Furuya to their hall in hopes that it's familiar to Furuya how it was like in Seido; he isn't sure if any of this is right, but Furuya will say no if the other doesn't want to, and he'll take what he can get.

When Furuya reaches him, Miyuki hands him a baseball.

"Ignore him," is the first thing Miyuki says, side-eyeing Mei who leans against one of the pitching nets to watch them. "For the rest: you know what to do."

Miyuki gives his mitt an experimental punch and walks over to the other side where he crouches down. Furuya breathes in, fiddling with the ball until Miyuki nods. The first pitch is so loud that everyone in the hall immediately stops and turn to stare at them. Miyuki winces when some of his teammates start to murmur and walk towards them. Maybe…he should've thought this through a little more.

"Slow! That was so slow!" Mei huffs, crossing his arms. "It was much faster the last time I saw it!"

And much better controlled too, Miyuki smirks wryly, but he doesn't want to nag at those things when Furuya's just finding his love for pitching again.

"Furuya—"

He makes to throw the ball back to Furuya, but the pitcher is staring at his fingers, with a barely perceptible twitch of the other's lips. Furuya does this quite often when they play catch but it always throws him off, because right after Furuya will flicker his gaze towards him, eyes bright blue and happy, and Furuya's cheeks will flush gently. And then comes the part where Miyuki hates—Furuya will then catch himself and look to his feet, biting the bottom of his lip as if to swallow the bitterness of an _I love you_.

"Don't be so happy with that terrible pitch," Miyuki calls before Furuya turns his attention away and tosses the ball back.

It's the least he can do.

* * *

 _8 months later._

In mid-July, the All-Star Games closes with a lot of fanfare—from the teams themselves; with a mix of players from different professional teams sorted into new groups, it leads to a much louder and rowdier dinner celebration. Furuya doesn't find it surprising that Miyuki's team wins, but Narumiya Mei is _incensed_ and vows to drink the restaurant empty in protest. It's not the first time that Furuya has joined them for dinner after a match, but it is the first time he joins them to drink.

Or rather, he watches them drink.

He learns that Sawamura is even louder when drunk. He also learns that the older Kominato has the tiniest body but the highest alcohol tolerance, because at the end of the night Ryousuke is the one who kicks all the fallen players out of the restaurant with a smile that said he was ready to commit murder the next day.

"Urgh—I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," Kuramochi mutters, swaying slightly on his feet, but at least he's much more sober than the rest—like say Narumiya and Sawamura who are currently yelling their heads off at each other whilst stumbling towards some unknown roadside direction.

"Shit, hold this useless piece of trash will you?" Kuramochi groans before shoving a heavy body towards Furuya just as Ryousuke growls under his breath and storms after the wayward pitchers. "Just sit somewhere until we get those idiots back."

Furuya nods, dragging the heavy figure towards a lone bench right outside the restaurant entrance, sitting the person next to him. It's Miyuki, who groans some unintelligible words and leans into his shoulder. Furuya stares at how the red flush is visible under Miyuki's tan, and it goes all the way down the other's neck. He only realises he's touching Miyuki's skin when Miyuki blinks his eyes open and looks up at him with eyelids half-lidded, alcohol strong in the catcher's breath.

"You can touch more if you want," Miyuki says, and Furuya retracts his hand immediately, face warming.

Miyuki smiles lazily, hiccupping once. "You always look at me. Don't you get sick of looking at me?"

"No."

Miyuki chuckles, and then laughs some more like it's the funniest thing on earth. "You know, sometimes, I touch you to see how you look at me when I do," the other tries to mock whisper, but that fails terribly. "I'm the worst person on earth."

"…Not the worst," Furuya says after a pause.

"No, the worst, the worst," Miyuki shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I've never had anyone love me, see? And when you told me, I thought you had the worst luck in the world to be stuck on me. Imagine! Me!"

The catcher breaks off into another scattered laugh until it abruptly stops. "You should take what you want from me," he says, leaning more on Furuya. "Because I don't know how to give it."

"I don't want anything that way, Miyuki-senpai."

"Hm," Miyuki grunts, pressing his face into Furuya's shoulder with his eyes closed. "That sucks for you. It hurts right? You don't deserve this."

It does, as it always has for the past seven years, but now he's closer than ever to Miyuki—has his heart ever fluttered so crazily before where Miyuki is comfortable enough to rest on him?

"You should hate me by now."

Furuya swallows, glancing down briefly.

"…I still love you, Miyuki-senpai," he mumbles, but it's loud enough for both of them to hear. "I love you a lot."

"Yeah?" Miyuki drones, trailing off sleepily. "If you say it more, maybe I'll fall in love with you too."

* * *

 _10 months later._

When the front door closes, Mei waits for his ice cream to be delivered. However, nothing comes to his hands after five minutes and he scowls, refusing to tear his eyes away from the television screen.

"Kazuya?" he calls, keeping his eyes glued to the National Geographic commentator on screen.

No reply comes, and this time he turns back to glance just in case some robber entered their apartment or if Miyuki is trying to pull a shitty scare-joke. He finds Miyuki leaning with the other's back against the door, eyes closed. Curious, he pads quietly up to the catcher until he's right beside the other before yelling, " _KAZUYA!_ "

Miyuki startles so badly that he hits his shoulder against the door. "What the _hell_ —?"

Mei looks pointedly at the catcher's empty hands. "Where's my ice cream?"

"—Ah," Miyuki blinks, and there goes the catcher's nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck. "Oops. You can go get it yourself, it's just down the street."

"I just texted you to get it because _you_ were walking down that street and you said okay!" Mei huffs.

More like texted him like _six_ times to remind him, but okay—

"Are you trying to ruin my night just because I told Carlos you were going on a date with Toru-chan? Huh? Huh?"

"Calm down, I just forgot, or something," Miyuki sighs, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'll go get it now, sheesh."

"What's up with you?" Mei narrows his eyes, grabbing the catcher's arm before the other can open their front door. "Are—…did you drink?" the pitcher pauses stepping closer to squint at him. "You're a bit red. You can't get drunk while we have a match this—"

"I know that!"

"—Or…." Mei stares, eye twitching in incredulity. "Are you blushing?"

When Miyuki just stares back with off-guard wide eyes, Mei laughs, he laughs _so hard_.

"Oh my—f-fucking—" Mei coughs, slamming his chest with his fist to breathe. "Oh my god, oh shit, oh my god—"

"Mei…"

"—I-I need to tell someone about this, oh my fucking—"

" _Mei!"_ Miyuki shouts, sharp. "Will you…please…just shut up. For once."

Mei quietens, but he still sniggers. "Out with it Kazuya. What happened with Toru-chan, hm? Got something _juicy_ to share?"

Miyuki sours, looking angrily at the ground for a moment before he sits down right there, holding his head in his palm. Mei squats and prods at him.

"Kazuya, come on," Mei says, patting the other's knee, but with how they are, it almost comes off as condescending. "Let's handle this better than the last time, okay? Or else if Sawamura comes banging on the door I'm going to let him in this time."

When Miyuki stays silent, Mei sighs and moves to sit next to him with his knees pulled up. "So, what, this time he told you he _lovesss_ you? Again? And maybe…you might…final…l..y…?"

"…I don't know," Miyuki says, finally looking up. "It's just. It. It _feels_ weird. Now. I mean, it always felt weird, but this time I said something and Furuya just, he just _said_ it and I wasn't—wasn't prepared for it, I…I can't think about anything else, _fuck_."

Mei squints at him. "…You know," he starts after a very long pause between them. "That's practically a 'yes'."

Miyuki barks a coarse laugh. "Mei, there's no way that I—as in me, _me_ —"

"Why not?" Mei raises an eyebrow. "Unless you're an exception to the universe, Kazuya, which you clearly are not—"

"Because it's too—c _-convenient_?" Miyuki splutters. "Furuya's l-loved me for such a long time and—and what if this isn't real, it's just, I dunno, like maybe this is—"

"It's been like, ten months, Kazuya," Mei cuts in, bored. "If your 'feelings' decided to pity date him for some reason they would've done it sooner; don't you think? In fact, _I_ think you don't want to believe it because _you_ turned him down first and you're scared to change that answer."

"…That's ridiculous."

Mei sniffs. "Don't come crying to me when someone else asks Toru-chan out and he says yes to get away from you, you sorry excuse for a loser."

"Go buy your own ice-cream, you brat."

"Fine," Mei pushes himself up, kicking Miyuki to get away from the front door. But before the slams the door behind him, he pauses. "…I don't think you've ever tried for anyone, Kazuya, except him. Think about that, you stupid ass."

* * *

 _One year later._

Early November is the perfect time for a Seido reunion, because that's when it's just off peak season for the professional players, but they're still sharp with the year's worth of trainings and matches. Furuya hasn't been to one, having declined to over the many years, but this year he joins…as a player.

" _Strike! Batter out!"_

Ryousuke smiles at him and lowers his bat at the shout, but Furuya feels a nervous shiver up his spine like he might be paying for that subtly in the near future.

"Nice ball!" Miyuki calls, grinning as he tossing the ball. "Keep it low, Furuya!"

Furuya catches the ball and breathes in, readying himself again. This time, Tetsu is at bat, concentrating intently towards him. Kuramochi is on first base, Chris on third. Though everyone plays baseball for either leisure or work, but the hard work of the pros shine through when they get deeper into the innings—Furuya is sweating and there's a stretch in his muscles in this sixth inning, while Sawamura is yelling with no end to his energy from the dugout for his team. His fastballs still echo like missiles into Miyuki's mitt, but Sawamura's moving fastballs flow sharper into Chris'.

At the corner of his eye, he sees Chris putting pressure on his play, ready to dash to home plate. At the other corner, Kuramochi grins at him, taunting him with his fast legs. But Miyuki fists his palm into his mitt from across him, calling his attention.

 _Focus on the batter—_

Furuya nods, taking an inhale. He closes his eyes briefly when he brings his arm back, focusing right on where Miyuki's mitt is placed, and _throws_.

Tetsu swings the bat on the first pitch—the timing is almost right but it's not enough, and with the angle, the ball is jammed straight into Haruichi who tags Chris out cleanly, followed by a sharp throw to first base to get Tetsu out.

— _and I'll take care of the runners._

A double play.

That's three outs with him giving up no runs in this inning; Sawamura yells, annoyed, while the rest of his team run by the mound to ruffle his hair or to pat his back with delight.

"Exactly where I asked for it," Miyuki says proudly when the catcher comes up to him, smirking. "You've got the hang of this now, haven't you, monster rookie?"

Furuya presses his lips together, trying to hide his soft blush at the praise. It's still a feat to calm his heartbeat when he pitches, it's even harder when Miyuki looks at him _like that_ —unconsciously, he reaches out towards Miyuki as the latter turns to make way toward the dugout, brushing Miyuki's bare right wrist.

"Hm? What is it?" Miyuki turns, cocking his head in question at the touch.

"Nothing," Furuya utters, moving retracting his hand, but Miyuki is faster in holding that traitorous hand still.

Miyuki looks at him like the other _knows_ , of course he does, and Furuya's face heats up.

"Miyuki-senpai," Furuya speaks up when silence just passes between them. "The game."

"…I know."

Miyuki's eyes are so bright and golden and _fierce_.

And then Miyuki takes one step towards him and presses their mouths together.

Furuya doesn't feel anything in what feels like a long drawn out minute, until Miyuki's thumb curves over the back of his hand and the catcher presses towards him harder, hot breath ghosting very briefly over his lips before kissing him again. Furuya trembles and closes his eyes, and only exhales when Miyuki pulls back.

"Sorry," Miyuki says quietly against his mouth. "I. I—I had a plan, and this wasn't the way I wanted this to happen but," the catcher breathes out slowly, swallowing, "I mean it. _This_ , I mean it. This time. If, if you'll still have me."

Furuya doesn't think he's ever seen Miyuki so hesitant and determined and unsure and _beautiful_ all at once, and all he can think of is that Miyuki tastes like home.

.

.

.

"—Oi, lovebirds! Get off the damn field!"

* * *

 ** _Fin._**


End file.
